More Than you Can Chew
by SnowSystem
Summary: Riley's in bad now. Its Thugnificent's TV spot & Riley's slipin? Where r the gurls Rizil?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Its been a very long time since I've submitted anything, so I think it would be good of me now to do so since I'm actively reading and reviewing again. This is my first Boondocks fic, try to be nice if you can...Not sure where this will go...reviews would be helpful as that it does prompt me to keep going. N. E. Way... Don't own Boondocks...yadda yadda...language...yadda yadda...Starts slow I guess...yadda yadda...kinda short, yeah I know...

* * *

"You know what Riley?" Huey said thoughtfully as he looked up from one of his many social science books. "I've just realized that you're full of as much shit as you talk, and you talk a lot of it." 

Riley looked up at his brother, who was propped against the head of his bed, staring almost absently into the pages of his book. He, who had been reclining on his own bed playing his PSP, furrowed his brow in miffed confusion.

"Nigga, wutchu talkin' bout?"

"I'm just thinking back to that basketball game of yours." Huey replied distantly without averting his eyes from the book.

"Nigga, how you gunna bring up some shit like dat knowin' damn well I'm tryin ta foget that embarrassin' ass shit…that 'tarded autistic-ass muthafucka g'wnin make me look like a dumb-ass in fruna all'em damn people. Lil' nigga bedda be glad he got guards now, otherwise I'd fuck is fow-eyed ass up…" Riley seethed under his breath.

Huey sighed. "Case and point Riley. Don't hate cuz he had skills and you didn't."

Riley angrily discarded his PSP, letting it bounce unceremoniously onto the bed sheets beneath him.

"Nigga you know I gave that punk his due! You see I n'er said nuthin when they put that movie out an' had me all fat n' nasty lookin' like Fat Albert or some shit! Sides Huey, you _still_ ain't had to bring that up. An' why _anyway_?"

Huey shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's because I think about all this shit you be sayin' and how you cain't never back up any of it. That's all." Huey finally closed his book and looked at his brother. "Sometimes though, I feel as if that mouth of yours is what's ultimately going to be _my_ downfall."

Riley sneered. "Nigga please, I ain't never asked you ta speak fa me, I gots my own voice!"

"Ok Riley. So when you sneak over to Thugnificent's house tomorrow with you're claims of 'fresh hoes' and you're inability to produce, whoese gunna be the one to bail you out of that whole you dug for yourself?"

"Huey quit hatin'! When have you evea known 'Young Rizil' not to produce?"

"Every community basketball game you ever played in."

Riley looked almost incredulous. "Negro please…"

Next day…

"Riley! What's up my nig!" Thugnificent's baritone voice boomed across his massive expanse of a living room.

"Sup, Thugnificent!" Came Riley's forced reply.

Yesterday night…

"Oh man, wut am I gunna do? I've called fourty-five hoes so far an' ain't nuna'them bitches gunna be available tomorrow—like them bitches have somethin' _better_ to do than bask in the glow of Lethal Interjection's glory?!"

"Well Riley, I can think of a few things they could be doing…like making a living in a normal fashion for example…having a family, working, or being seriously involved with someone who isn't as shallow as everything Lethal Interjection stands for." Huey shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nigga I ain't ask fa no answer!"

"Coulda fooled me, the question was loud enough."

"Well, if you wanna help, find me some fly-ass hoes to take to Thugnificent's house!" Riley pleaded.

"First of all…" Riley sighed inwardly, this is how Huey always sounded when he was about to get up on his soap box. "…Grandad told you to stay away from that man because he was a bad influence on you. Secondly, it's bad on him to look to an eight-year-old boy to find women for him, and thirdly, you're trying way too hard to fit into a crowd way too old for you, and who really don't have any of your best interests at heart."

Riley rolled his eyes. "Nigga quit preachin, they my crew! I gotta come thew for'em!"

"…Or…" Huey continued. "…You could just be mature about it and tell Thugnificent the truth about the girls having other plans. Knowing Thugnificent, he'll just blame it on them saying it's their loss and you lose no face at all…"

Riley nodded his head. "Yeah, that sounds like a good backup plan, I knew I could depend on you!"

Huey frowned. "Trust me, I'm not trying to encourage you." Just then the phone rang.

"I'LL GET IT!" Riley bellowed as he quickly made haste for the phone at the bottom of the stairs. Huey just shook his head.

"Thugnificent, sup!" Riley gushed into the receiver, elated that his next-door idol was actually phoning _him_.

"RIILLEYY! Who the hell is callin here at this hour??" Robert shouted from somewhere upstairs. Riley placed a hand over the phone as he called back.

"It's for me Grandad!"

"Boy I asked who it was not who it was for! You don't need ta be gettin' calls this late anyway, now tell me who it is--!"

Riley had since blocked out his grandfather's rant from upstairs and returned his attention to the person on the other end.

"Sorry bout that Thugnificent, its jus my Grandad bein' nosey. Wasup?"

"It's all good lil nigga. I jus wanted ta make sure that them bitches g'wn be thew tomorrow, I got a T.V. crew commin' in so I'm'll need wall ta wall tities, ya heard?"

Riley felt his heart sink. He was _expecting _him to come through with hoes in tow, the man had plans! However, at this point he could take Huey's advice and tell him the truth about the bitch bailout, he could pin it on them no prob…a cowardly move sure, but at least he'd be saving face.

"Yo lil man, you still there?"

"Yeah, Thugnificent…uh, about the bitches…"

Thugnificent interjected quickly. "What about'em Riley, they is comin', ain't they?"

There was something in his voice that sounded sinister as he posed Riley the question, something not unlike Ed's grandfather whenever he spoke. It was enough to chill the backbone right out of Riley, causing him to loose his nerve. Only after another pause did he offer his answer.

"Uh, yeah Thugnificent, they'll be there. Them hoes should be lucky they even have an opportunity like this ya know?"

"Das wut I'm talkin' bout! Das wasup Riz, good lookin', holla atcha boy! Peace!"

Then the line was silent. Riley slowly returned the phone to its cradle, feeling dread creep over him as he did. He just _lied_ to _Thugnificent_. How the hell could he face him and the other members of Lethal Interjection without a throng of gold-digging hoochies? He said there would be bitches, found that there wouldn't be, and instead of being a man about it, went and made his grave that much bigger. Here he was with little more than twenty-four hours to get fifty plus dimes, with nothing more than Thugnificant's name to drop. What was an eight-year-old wannabe thug to do? God he couldn't stand it when his brother was right…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Ok, so it might seem to be dragging by time you get to the bottom, provided that hasn't happened for you already…I'm shooting from the hip here, but I can foresee this picking up next chapter, and if not then, definitely by chapter four. Depending on what happens I might bump up the rating and include that change in the summery—if I even make it that far. Fixed some things I overlooked in my first chapter. Don't own Boondocks, don't sue, you'll get nothing. Language, swearing.

* * *

"…See, Riley, I told you bout that shit…" Huey said matter-of-factly after he informed him of what happened. 

"Man Huey, you jus don't understand!" Riley wined.

"I guess so. I don't see how hard it could've just to tell the man 'sorry, my bad'. I told you it would've been cool, but there you go, tryin' ta be all big and bad, now you stuck. Really Riley, you need to go tell that man the truth before he does something to our house." Huey said pointedly. Riley scoffed in return. "Man, thas the bitch way out!"

By now Huey was tiring of his brother's seemingly irrational method of approaching this problem.

"Do I have to go to Thugnificent's myself and fess up for you?" He asked with folding arms and a signal raised brow. Riley recoiled intensely as his face twisted into mock horror. "Man, you talkin' bout snitchin' on me?!"

Huey sneered back. "Nigga its not like you hidin' anything! The only thing you're doing wrong, besides all of the obvious, is not bein' straight up witchyo boy—but clearly that can't be all that important for you seeing as that you haven't taken any steps to rectify the situation. It seems to me Riley that if you just come clean, you can avoid Thugnificent being mad at you; not that you should care because you don't need to be in his company _anyways_."

Riley just stared back at his brother. He hated it when he got all self-righteous when he knew he was right. But apparently what Huey wasn't noticing was the principle of the situation. Seeing as Huey _never_ actively tried making friends of _any sort_ in Woodcrest, he didn't understand the importance of making good on what he promised to other people because he didn't do it in the first place. Riley, however, had no intentions of being some lonesome-ass nigga with nothing but his computer to keep him company. Hell, even Grandad got out more than Huey did.

"An' that's precisely the shit that makes you lame nigga." Riley snorted at last. Huey's face drew up in confusion as he couldn't find the connection between what he said and his brother's retort. He continued to watch him with the same annoyed befuddlement as his little brother left their bedroom.

"I swear I think that boy doesn't know _how_ to make sense." Huey muttered to himself.

Next day…again…

Riley stood just off the lawn of Thugnificent's estate-like property, feeling a pang of helplessness pull at him from somewhere within. He looked down at himself—first to the Timberlands on his feet, his saggy dark denim jeans, then lastly to his throwback jersey. As loose fitting as the shirt underneath his jersey was, it still felt like it was smothering him. He held the brim of his hat as he looked up at Thugnificent's house. He purposely forwent the chain his idol had given him as reward for swarming his property with all the scantily clad hoes months before. He felt then he didn't have the right to wear it…hell, maybe he should have at least brought it along, seeing as Thugnificent would more than likely demand it's return upon finding that there would in fact, be no hoes for his T.V. spot that would be recording today. A gentle breeze blew in from the west, caressing his brown skin as it did. There was no comfort in that normally welcomed touch. Taking a deep breath, Riley prepared for the worst as he made his way to the front door.

"Riley! What's up my nig!" Thugnificent's baritone voice boomed across his massive expanse of a living room.

"Sup, Thugnificent!" Came Riley's forced reply.

It took only seconds before Riley's small form was dwarfed by the towering gangsta-rapper. Now was the time…Riley had been regretting it most of the night that he didn't call back and tell Thugnificent what was up when he had finally exhausted all of his known options. His last ditch effort had been to call up A Pimp Named Slickback and see if he could work a deal, however, Riley knew all too well that he needed serious paper if he were to even talk to the pimp—money of which he didn't have. That being so, the best thing at that point was to get his thieving cohorts Ed and Rummy to foot him the cash first. Of course that had been a bust right away when he couldn't get in touch with either of them. There was still that option of A Pimp Named Slickback's cache of money hoes, but it would be hella expensive and the whole point of the mission was so that Thugnificent, who had the money anyway, wouldn't have to pay. Oh well.

"Ay, Thugnificent," Riley began slowly, not looking up at the man. "About them hoes man, they ain't comin'." There, the truth was out. Of course what happened next was inevitable.

"What?!" Came Thugnificent's squeak of incredulity. "You jokin' right man?" He asked with nervous laughter. "Cuz when I called you last night at like, ten o'clock, you said it was all good, cuz I told you I had a T.V. spot today so, yeah…you jokin' right?"

Riley's jaw twitched like the legs of an overturned cockroach as he struggled for an answer. By then he had met the gaze of the man and he did _not_ look happy. "Look Thugnificent, there wasn't nothin' I could do! All them hoes backed out at the last minute! When I talked to you it was cool, but now it ain't!" And it was the truth…well, most of it, and not exactly in that order.

"Nigga why the hell you ain't call me?!" Thugnificent screeched. "Leece that way I coulda dun sumthin' bout it! Hell Riley! Nigga what the hell?!"

"Wait Thugnificent, you can still get some hoes!" Riley exclaimed putting his hands up in an attempt to calm the man down.

"Nigga how? It is two-thurdy in the afternoon and dem folks spose'ta be here in fowdy-five minutes." He said pointing to his iced-out watch. "Where you gunna get fidy hoes in fowdy-five fuckin' minutes?! Thas less then a minute a hoe!"

"I know Thugnificent, but I still got sumthin'!" Riley practically pleaded. Thugnificent sneered with a raised eyebrow as he awaited Riley's offer.

"I know a pimp named A Pimp Named Slickback who has hoes like a sheik! And they ain't them nasty used up five-dolla hoes either, these bitches is _fine_." Riley smiled weakly waiting for Thugnificent's response.

"Lil nigga," he began calmly. "Do you have any idea how much high-dolla pimped hoes cost? They ain't high-dolla for nuthin'." The boy regarded rapper intently. "These bitches ain't even by the service alone. They time _plus_ service. Just havin' them here _lookin'_ fine is an expense in and of itself."

"But…" Riley began innocently. "…Ain't you rich?"

"Nigga have you looked around??" Thugnificent fussed as he outstretched his arms to the space around him. "Have you not seen the spectacular domicile that is my house? I'm damn near broke! Why the hell you think I'm doin' this T.V. spot? I am trying to keep my face out there so these people who buy my records don't fo'get me in between releases!" He said thuding his finger into his chest. "Nigga this shit ain't no damn joke, this is business! Hoes, money and beats is the blood fuelin' this lifestyle. I asked you to do this so I wouldn't _hafta_ spend money on no damn tities! Now I've gone from havin' free hoes to overpriced stuck-up contracted bitches of which I must do business with some prissy-ass, pink caddie-driven nigga who speaks fa'them! Do you understand what I'm tellin' you lil nigga?"

Riley nodded his head timidly. Not exactly off the hook, but at least he wasn't throwing him out saying that he couldn't come back.

With his frustrations expelled, Thugnificent took in a large breath and exhaled deeply. "Now what about this Bitch Named Slickback, you got a number?"

"Yeah?"

There was a brief pause. "Nigga whatchu still standin' there for? Go get me some Goddamn prices!!"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Alright, fine—its taking a little longer than I thought, but no worries. For those of you who were able to stomach my fic this far (its slow even for me), I can tell you now that things are going to get pretty damn ugly for our boy Riley in the coming chapters. Actually, I'm kinda excited—but I digress. Don't own Boondocks. More language, more swearing. Reviews and continued support are appreciated.

* * *

Huey was on the computer when his little brother burst through their bedroom door. He rushed over to him and started scrambling over the computer desk. 

"Ay, ay, AY!" Huey called out as Riley fumbled over him. "What the hell are you lookin' for all over my desk without even excusin' yo'self? Nigga back up!" Huey scolded as he pushed back on his brother's chest.

"Move Huey, I'm tryin'ta find A Pimp Named Slickback's number!"

Huey frowned. "Him? Wutchu need his number for?"

"So Thugnificent can get some of his hoes for the T.V. show he's recordin', now come on Huey, I ain't got that much time!"

"Calm down!" I've got his number here," said Huey as he pulled open a small drawer on the desk. Holding it in front of Riley, he snatched the ornate business card backward as his brother reached for it.

"Now give me one damn good reason I should even give you this. I thought you were going to tell him the truth." Huey said accusingly.

"Nigga I did!"

"So what did Thugnificent say?"

"He _said_ he was countin' on me bringin' hoes like I told you and he'll be jacked-up if I can't get some _like I said I would_!" Riley huffed.

"Well you know what, that's on him" said Huey watching the card as he rolled it in his fingers. "I've made up my mind and it's time I stepped in. That grown-ass man is jus g'wn be shit outta luck cause you can't do it. Yo job is done."

"What??" Came Riley's shocked return. "Nigga you can't just decide fa'me what's done and what ain't!"

"Riley I can and I just did. I may not be able to tell Thugnificent what to do, but to you my younger brother, I most certainly can."

Riley was struck speechless for a second. Huey was actually pulling rank on him, and for an instant, Riley felt echo of rage pulse through him. Was he going to have to fight his older and decidedly more skilled brother for an f-ing telephone number? It seemed so, and he was prepared to, but suddenly thought better of it—toe-to-toe, he knew he was no match for Huey. But whatever. His brother wasn't the only one who had A Pimp Named Slickback's contact number.

"Fuck you Huey." Riley spat. "I ain't gunna forget this shit." He cut him one last incensed glare before storming out. The older Freeman boy stared long at the door his brother had so angrily slammed shut. After a moment he let his eyes wonder to the floor, then finally to the card in his hand. It would have been a lie to say he was unmoved by the remark. Out of all the fights and disagreements they had had over the years, Riley had never cursed him like that before and it upset him. He turned back around to face the monitor, returning the business card to its pervious resting place as he did. Maybe he should've given him the number? No—he was right not to do it. How could he ever make a lasting impression on his younger brother if he didn't stand by his decisions? Still though, fuck him? That was a bit much, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized how much it hurt.

Grandad had the number he knew, but the man wasn't home and Riley sure enough wasn't about to go sifting through his grandfather's effects just to find it. He glanced at the clock on the wall before leaving—2:41.

'Ding dong!' It was the ever-generic sound of the Dubois' front doorbell.

"Who is it?" Came the unmistakably girlish voice of the Dubois child.

"Jazmine, it's Riley—open up!"

The door cracked open only enough for the green-eyed mulatto girl to slip through. Her hair was different today, pulled back into one giant pony-fro instead of the usual twin puffs that would flank either side of her head.

"What's up?" The girl asked.

"Jazmine, I need ta talk to yo dad fo'a minute."

She blinked at him for a second. "Sure I can get him…did you get in trouble or something?"

"Its grown-folk business, so jus getcho pops fa'me so I can get outta here." Riley returned shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Ok. DAAAAADDDDDDDDDIIIIEEEEEEE!!!! RILEY FREEMAN WANTS TO TALK TO YOUUUUU!!!!"

As soon as he thought it was safe, Riley opened back his eyes and uncovered his ears. "Girl, are you out yo damn mind?! Wutchu yellin' my name out like that fo?? People might be listenin!" He chided the loudmouthed girl while looking around to make sure no one of immediate importance had noticed. Just then Thomas Dubois opened wide the door and stepped beside his daughter.

"Oh hi Riley! Nice day we're having. What can I do for you?" Tom inquired in his typical Ned Flanders fashion.

"Mr. Dubois? I need to speak to you in private." The boy said with controlled authority.

"Well, alright Riley, I don't see why not." Mr. Dubois then looked to Jazmine. "Jazmine sweetie, could you go inside for me so Riley and I can talk for a bit?"

Jazmine smiled sweetly at the request. "Sure thing daddy!" With that, she disappeared back into the house.

"Now, what's up?" The man asked with a smile.

"I need A Pimp Named Slickback's number." Riley said getting straight to the point.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "What for?"

"_Cuz I need it_." Riley replied, his face wrapped in sarcasm. Seriously, did everybody have to question _everything_?

Mr. Dubois gave a chuckle. "Okay Riley, I'll get it. Just wait here."

Finally he was getting somewhere.

"Man, where the fuck is that little bitch?" Thugnificent grumbled darkly as he sat on the couch in front of his mural. It was already after three and there had been no word from Riley at all. The other members of Lethal Interjection sat stoically about Thugnificent as they waited for the boy's return. Thugnificent's face was ablaze with disproval.

"I don't get it. I let him into my house, let him hang around _my _crib, put up with _his_ bitch-ass grandpa, and let him be apart of _my _entourage." The man fumed while absently messaging the rings on his fingers. "And what does he do? Lets his punk ass get the chain I _personally_ gave him took, kept that fact a secret, then let Flownominal get cracked upside the kneecap an' left'em there rollin in the damn dirt when he helped him get it back! It's all good though, I let that shit slide, but then da bitch go an' _lie_ about the heifers he told me he was gunna get here!" Flownominal and Macktastic looked nervously to each other before training back their eyes to their more than displeased leader. "You know he came in here this afternoon at two fuckin' thurdy and told me _all_ the bitches backed out? What the hell kinda shit is that?! How all dem gunna skip out on _me_?? Humph. So he goes on'ta tell me he knows some pimp he can get hoes from--hoes _I_ hafta pay for--but that was thurdy minutes ago. I tell ya what, if there ain't no bitches here when that T.V. crew get to rollin, that lil bitch g'wn wish he ain't never even _hearda_ my ass!"

A long and tense pause hung in the room before Flownominal dared to break it's silence. "Well, maybe he jus ain't got back yet?" The man offered in Riley's defense. Thugnificent slowly drug his eyes to his cohort. "Nigga shut yo bald-ass up. He fuckin' knew what was goin' on so he shoulda been here by now!"

"But Nificent, he's jus a kid—maybe he couldn't do it?" The fair faced Macktastic rejoined in defense of the child.

"Well then that lil shit shoulda thought about that before he put his ass out there! He wanted to be in my entourage, he accepted the induction so he'll accept the consequences of fuckin' up! His shit went bad with me at three o'clock when he wasn't here with no call and no GODDAMN WOMEN!"

The other two men made no attempt to hide the worry on their faces as Thugnificent became more and more heated. "Nificent be easy dog!" Flownominal said trying to pacify the increasingly unstable man.

Thugnificent wasted no time in crossing the space between he and Flownominal. "NIGGA DON'T TELL ME--"

'Ding dong'! Thugnificent was cut off by sound of his doorbell. Pulled away from the possible beating he was about to give his lackey, the gangsta-rapper instead headed for the front.

"I tell ya that better be that lil muthafucka on the other side'uh that door wit mad bitches or his ass is done." The man muttered under his breath as he went to answer his door.

"Good afternoon Thugnificent," said a short white man in a white shirt and blue baseball cap. Behind him were two other crew men with two more unloading equipment from a van in the roundabout. "We're here to set up for recording. It shouldn't take too long, bout twenty minutes or so. If we can come in we'll get started."

Thugificent flashed the man a platinum-filled grin as he stepped aside for the crew's entry. As the other crewmen brought in various black trunks, Thugnificent peered out into the street. No sign of Riley.

No matter what, that little bitch was in for it now.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Wow ya'll, I'm really feelin' the love!! I didn't think my fic would be this well received! Thank you for real. Now, down to business. I said things were going to get unpleasant for Riley. Hopefully this chapter will kinda set the tone for that. Don't own Boondocks. Language (as usual). Enjoy!

* * *

"Alright Thugnificent, we're ready to begin whenever you are." About twenty-five minutes had passed, and the core members of Lethal Interjection were sitting on the living room couch listening to the man in the ball-cap. "But before we get started, I just wanted to go over the recording schedule we have planned. First, I'd like to conduct the interview portion with each of you together, then separately. After that, me and the crew will do a good thorough sweep of the house so we can have plenty of footage for editing. Its gunna go a lot like Cribs did, but there's obviously going to be a great deal more of talking. Basically the concept is to give the viewers a more humanizing angle of you, if that's alright." 

"It's all good man." Thugnificent smiled, his demeanor pleasant and laid back. "Jus as long as it looks a'ight, I'm straight."

As the filming crew got into position, there was no doubt in either Flownominal or Macktastic that things were looking bad for the crew's youngest member—Thugnificent was _far_ too at ease for their comfort.

After the interview's end, the crew leader informed Thugnificent that they would be taking a ten minute break. When the man had gotten far enough away, the storm of negative energy brewing within Thugnificent seemed to chill the air around him. Flownominal and Macktastic remained hushed all the while, fearful of the anger that seemed to permeate their very skin. Never had they seen him like this—it unnerved them to no end.

And then the doorbell rang.

Going to retrieve it, Thugnificent's expression hardly changed as he opened his front door.

"Thugnificent I presume?"

"Yeah."

"A Pimp Named Slickback, how do you do. I am understanding that you are in the middle of a hoe drought, correct?"

Thugnificent sneered just enough to let his top grill show. "…Sumthin' like dat."

"Hmm…" The pimp smiled coyly as he twice rapped his cane on the concrete stoop beneath his gator-clad feet. Then, in sweep of immaculate synchronization that even Thugnificent couldn't deny, all the doors in the black Escalade caravan in his roundabout opened up and out stepped the biggest and most diverse harem of bottom bitches the gangsta-rapper had ever seen.

"I do believe sir," cooed A Pimped Named Slickback _most_ condescendingly, "I am here to the rescue."

Thugnificent eyed the slender man hard. "How much?"

"Five grand not a penny less, and that's _only _because you know the boy. Consider it a 'friend of a friend' discount." The pimp said smugly.

Thugnificent scowled so hard face was nearly about to crack—yet his voice was even as he spoke through heavily pursed lips. "You take a _check_?"

"What, so it can bounce cuz silly niggas like you don't now how to keep yo bread in check? Cash only son or I packs up my bitches and beez on my way."

Veins began to bulge and a thin sheen of sweat surfaced on the chocolate flesh of the seething rapper at the uttering of this. The motherfucker had him by the balls and very well knew it. The pimp snickered.

"Try not to shit a kitten my brutha…it ain't that difficult a decision." A Pimp Named Slickback commented quietly behind his maddening smile.

"…Jus stay yo' frilly-ass right there…I'll be back."

The pimp chuckled in his throat as he watched the gangsta-rapper disappear back into his house. Just then, Riley appeared at A Pimp Named Slickback's side.

"So, is it all good?" The boy asked having not seen the exchange between the two men.

"It would appear so." The pimp replied not looking at him. "Although I'm not sure your neighbor fully grasps the sheer depth of his discount or my graciousness. I have brought with me today sixty-five of my most _thoroughbred_ hoes--the best that money can buy--and he's getting them all for an _eighth_ of the cost.Cristal has indeed tipped the scales _massively_ in his and your favor. So you'll understand when I say this can't ever happen again, am I right?"

Riley blinked before he answered. "Uh…yes?"

"Ah. Good boy."

Thugnificent stalked over to his safe-behind-the-painting in his master bedroom. Fingers deftly negotiating the combination lock, the safe door swung open to reveal in it several stacks of money. Before he became especially famous, Thugnificent had promised himself to always keep an emergency stash just in case shit ever hit the fan. This was his fall back money, his 'I ain't dead yet' fund. And yet, here he was now about to exhaust the whole damn thing over a knot of bitches he couldn't do shit with. Sick with anger, he took the wrapped stacks into his hand. Five even. This shit could _not_ be real. But fuck it—he'd put it back. Right now there was business to attend—masterminding would have to wait, though that fact did very little to calm him down. With a rancorous growl, he slammed back the safe door, its mechanisms locking with a loud metallic clank.

Back downstairs, Thugnificent strode past his two flunkies and back to the outrageously garbed pimp that still stood in his doorway.

"Alright nigga, five stacks, get the hoes in here."

"Suits me just fine. Sweetest Taboo," the man called over his shoulder. "Come collect for me please. The rest of you, in the house."

As the women continued to herd across the home's threshold, A Pimp Named Slickback made his way back to his caddie with Sweetest Taboo close behind. Riley looked triumphantly at Thugnificent as the last of the girls filed in.

"Ok Riley. The bitches are here, fine. But if you don't mind, I'd like for you to stick around until after all this is done, eh?"

Riley smiled. "You got it Thugnificent!"

It was about six o'clock when recording had finally finished. With the hoes gone, and Flownominal and Macktastic on their way home, Riley was finally alone with Thugnificent.

"Yeah, Thugnificent! That shit was da'bomb!" Riley exclaimed jovially.

Suddenly, Riley was snatched backward by his collar from behind and flung mercilessly to the floor. He was in a bit of a daze as he tried to figure what had just happen. Before he did however, a fist full of his jersey had been collected in the colossal grip of the man over him.

"Listen close ta'me ya lil' muthafucka! I just gave that pimp my stash that I've been savin' longer than yo' narrow ass has been alive! Make no mistake that I _will_ be takin' every bit of it outta yo ass!"

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A/N: gasp What is this?? Just a hint. Trust me, I love Riley to death, but my lil' man in for a world of hurt. Till next update. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: First things first, I'd like to give a big shout out to my Demo-chan!!!! Yay Demo-chan!!!! Then to all my peeps who've been showin' me luve. YaaaaY!!! Ok, next on the docket, the fate of everybody's favorite nigglit; read, discover, and review! Not yet sure when this thing is finally going to earn itself an 'M' for situational hazards, but all in good time I guess. _Besides_ for potty words, lemmie know what you think as far as the rating goes. All right ladies and gentle folk, here we go! I don't own Boondocks, but if I did, I'd prolly wouldn't be flying. Language, some violence O.o(ooooh).

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"Thugnificent, why?? I thought it was all good!" The boy struggled against the hand that fisted his clothes. 

"Bitch, I'll show you what's '_all good'_." In a swift motion, a massive paw came around for a vicious backhand to the left cheek that drove Riley's head into the marble floor beneath him.

The boy blinked for a second, eyes rolling around in his head. His face was going numb with that odd prickly sensation; he could taste blood. Again Thugnificent grabbed a fist full of his shirt and jersey.

"You felt that? Betcha yo granddaddy ain't ever slap you in the mouth like that, huh?" He shoved the boy back onto the floor.

"THAT, was for lyin' ta me. Tch, this ain't no play-play boy; I am a real life grown-ass man. Don't _FUCK_ wit me, ya heard?"

All Riley could do was stare at the man. His mind was still struggling to wrap itself around the pain in his face and the blood in his mouth.

"DO YOU HEAR ME TALKIN' TA YOU BOY??!!" The gangsta- rapper bellowed as he plunged a fist into Riley's tender belly. The boy jerked into fetal position immediately, wrapping arms around his middle with his forehead touching his knees. The child wreathed on the icy marble for several seconds, rolling from one side to the other as if the motion itself would somehow give back his violently stolen breath--his seizuring diaphragm refused to let him breathe at all. The only thing he could manage were a few strangled gasps that emerged in the sound of little morbid wheezes. Blood leaked out of his mouth through barely parted lips.

"Uh huh, that shit hurt don't it?" Thugnificent sneered. "Getcho ass up." He commanded as he yanked the gasping boy up by his arm to his feet. Grabbing Riley's face by the cheeks, Thugnificent forced the boy to look at him, blood and saliva running down Riley's throat from his up-angled head.

"Now, here's what chew'gunna do. You gunna go to the baffroom in the other room an' you gunna wash yo mouth out. Then, you gunna go home an' read a muthafuckin' book ok? I'm'll call yo ass tomorrow an' you g'wn bring yo ass back here and you _ain't_ gunna delay, ya'heard me?"

Riley gurgled something that resembled an 'uh huh' and was released. Doing as he was told, he somehow staggered to one of the many bathrooms on the first floor. Inside, he took stock of himself in the mirror. His lip wasn't busted, but he did cut the inside of his mouth on his teeth pretty bad when Thugnificent struck him. A purple bruise, however, was already beginning to form on the left side of his face—something he'd have to explain if questioned about.

He grabbed the sides of the sink and leaned over it, trying to function with his still quivering stomach. Riley spit into the basin. The blood had been filling up his mouth had now covered most of the area around the drain. Turning the water on, he slurped some into his mouth by his hand and rinsed. By the eleventh rinse though, he figured he'd give up. The blood wouldn't stop until the cut started to heal. Drying his hands on the nearby toilet paper, he walked back to the main hall corridor.

"Remember what I said nigga." Thugnificent threatened, his eyes and head following Riley closely as he made his way for the door. The boy coward a bit as he walked passed the man who did nothing short beat him.

Walking across the street, Riley decided to detour away from his home. Reaching the nearby park where his grandfather and Ruckus would usually play chess, Riley sat at a picnic table. It seemed no one was around. Only when he got off his feet did his body begin to quake. In the midst of his shudders, the tears began to fall. He clenched his teeth as he tried in vain to suppress the sobs that added to all the shaking.

How the hell could this have happened? Why would Thugnificent do such a thing?

"Because you fuckin' lied to him and made him spend his cash stupid!" Riley answered himself miserably. Bloody saliva dripped from his bottom lip in long, sickening strands as he reeled in physical and mental anguish. Then at once, that all too familiar turn of the stomach had Riley vomiting all over his Timberlands. His head spun as he tried to keep control of his body which was not used to taking that level of abuse.

Bent over at the middle, Riley breathed hard as the blood on this palate combined with the bile caused him to vomit again—his strength and consciousness leaving out of him with the remaining phlegm.

When Riley finally came to, night had begun to fall. The cool of the evening air was chilling even further his already cold skin. How long had he been out? If he didn't get back home soon his family would start to worry. Climbing to his feet—he had fallen off of the picnic table's bench—he looked himself over in the failing daylight. While his boots were probably ruined by the stomach acid, it seemed as though he narrowly missed collapsing into his own puke. Feeling a bit more collected, he quickly headed for home.

On his way back, Riley had deduced it to be a little after seven, as that the shorting days of early August called for earlier nightfall. Alright, at least they wouldn't jump on him about being overly late coming home.

Riley sighed before turning his head back to the gaudily dressed estate that belonged to Thugnificent. A different kind of numbing feeling crept into him as he looked at the house.

Tomorrow, eh?

Inside, Riley made haste for the upstairs bathroom. Finding it unoccupied, he removed his shoes and placed them in the tub. He'd have to wash them of quickly or the smell would become obvious. Looking under the sink, he grabbed some of Grandad's bubble-bath and poured some over the suede. His shoes really _were_ ruined now, but he didn't care, he just wanted the smell out. Pulling off his shirt and jersey, Riley went to look at himself in the mirror.

'Oh my _gowd_,' Riley thought as he saw his appearance. Good thing he didn't run into his brother or grandfather on the way to the bathroom because he looked like _shit_. Dried blood, saliva, and vomit crusted around his chin. His eyes were red and glossy and the strike mark across his face had enlarged and swollen. If that kept up, his eye would black. Reaching for the faucet, he turned on the water and attempted to rinse his mouth again—the incessant coppery taste was making him ill. With that done, he figured he'd take a shower…the scent of blood and puke on the skin was a definite eyebrow raiser.

Huey hadn't moved from his computer since earlier that afternoon. The reason because one, he was doing some special online shopping, and two, he had been stewing. While he had figured Riley was just being pissy when he cursed him, it still didn't change the fact that he did. Huey had plans on bringing it up without being overly direct, but he'd just wait to see what happened.

The soft click of the door jam brought the boy out of his musings. His brother, he assumed. Huey turned in his chair to speak with him, but was immediately taken aback when he saw Riley's swollen face.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Riley had known this was coming and had plenty of time to prepare both a plausible explanation and a believable delivery.

"It's called kissin' a pole nigga! Ye'don't need'ta rub it in." The younger boy replied as he laid back on his bed, the towel from his shower still wrapped around him.

"Well excuse me for wonderin'. See if I ever ask you if you a'ight again. How'd you do that anyway?"

Riley stared at the ceiling while placing his hands behind his head. "I was tryin' some stunts on my bike and misjudged. The pole was there and so was the side of m'face. The shit hurt like a muthafucka, end of story." He finished bluntly, his tone subdued.

"Well Riley, you really should try to--"

"NIGGA I'M TIRED OF YOU TELLIN ME WHAT I SHOULD TRY OR NEED'TA DO! You ain't moms Huey, so quit tryin' ta'be like you know so DAMN much! I get sicka dat shit! Just leave me the _fuck_ alone some damn times!" Riley barked as he turned his back to his brother. He didn't want him to see the tears of his frustration and humility that curiously became free-flowing.

Huey scowled in disbelief. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you Riley?" He challenged, flabbergasted by Riley's sudden outburst. "Alls I was gunna tell you was try an' be more careful, damn! I don't know why the hell you so damn angry all of a sudden, but don't take it out on me! I ain't did nuthin' to yo ass!"

"Whatever nigga." Was Riley's only response. Huey could only stare at his brother's as the young revolutionary struggled with the correct words for this situation. He didn't want to yell back without knowing just what exactly Riley's damage was, but he really didn't want to let Riley literally rollover on what he had said to him. After a few minutes passed, Huey watched as Riley stood and made his way to the dresser opposite the door. "So you gunna watch me change too?" Riley asked sullenly without turning around, grabbing a wife-beater and some boxers as he did.

"Naw nigga, you do what you do. I'm over here at my computer." Huey said quietly, having since decided to not engage his younger brother anymore that night.

Riley didn't respond as he let the towel drop. With the undergarments on, he crawled into his bed and pulled the covers up high. He didn't want to see or hear or do anything else that involved any_body_ else. His body was tired and so was his mind, but wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep—terrible fears were just on the outside of his consciousness and felt his restlessness would be the only thing to keep them away. He was out of line to yell at Huey the way he did, and was doubly wrong to bring up their mother like that. He'd apologize later sure, but the thing most on his mind now was tomorrow. Even hard-headed Riley Freeman knew better than to put himself in harm's way, but the question was, what would happen if he didn't?

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A/N: (giggles) Yeah, I know I'm bad! Trust me, this is just the tip of the iceburg. Later! 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: A few things. One, I'd like to apologize for the lapse in this update, a whole lot has been going on and this had to go on the back burner for a second. Anyway, this I do believe might be the longest chapter; I'm shooting for slightly longer chaps so that you won't feel like you're getting cheated in between updates. I can say though, the updates might get a little spotty, at least until Jan. With all my flights and tests I have to take coupled with working retail during Christmas, I need to let something hang out for a second—I hope you can understand. (Don't worry, its only two or so weeks!)

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The next morning, Riley awoke earlier than he normally would on a Saturday. It was about seven-thirty. He cursed silently as he climbed out of the bed throwing his covers off of him. Seeing that his brother and grandfather had not yet woken, he didn't feel compelled to race to the bathroom. Running the water to brush his teeth, Riley gingerly ran his tongue over the cut in his mouth. He could feel where the flesh had split and it made him sigh. At least it wasn't bleeding anymore, but his eye had officially blacked like he hoped it wouldn't. 

Not long after the younger Freeman boy finished washing up did the phone ring. Riley felt his body tense as he hurried to the phone to answer it.

"H-hello?"

"Rise 'n shine lil nigga."

Riley swallowed hard as the voice on the other end spoke to him.

"Fifteen minutes." Click.

The boy held the receiver to his ear long after the dial-tone began to sound. Finally setting the phone down, he moved into the living room to sit on the couch. What else could he do besides what he said? As of now, there was no time for lengthy speculation. Just get dressed, and go face your fate like a man…he guessed.

Riley had barely knocked when the door came open—Thugnificent had probably watched him walk over.

"Follow me." He said shortly as he moved deeper into the house.

Not sure of what would happen, Riley had made up his mind to say little to the older man—but as he trailed Thugnificent up the stairs, he just let it lie.

"Ay--" he began softly, gathering his courage. "I jus wanted you ta'know that wut chu did yesterday wunt cool. I know you see ma'face."

"What you did to me wunt cool, an' yes I do see yo'face. Let it remind you not to fuckin' lie ta'me." Thugnificent countered calmly without turning around. '_Whatever_' he thought indignantly, but his inner rebelliousness didn't keep him from wincing at the memory. Riley decided not to push his luck when the man didn't say anything else; apparently this man had no problems with beating children.When they arrived at a pair of large French-style doors, Thugnificent opened them and allowed the boy to walk through.

Thugnificent's bedroom.

Immediately Riley's pulse began to quicken. Why the hell would he bring him _there_? The boy stiffened as Thugnificent strode past him and knelt down beside the bed. From underneath it he pulled out a box, then motioned with his index finger for Riley to come closer. When he was near, Thugnificent proceeded to open the box and pull from it a silver gun.

"You see this?" He asked the boy.

"Yeah, it's a gun." He said matter-of-factly. "My friend Ed has some guns and he let me shoot--" Riley's words garbled as the man snatched his arm and pushed the barrel of the gun to the soft underside of the boy's chin.

"Nigga, you think me and my SW 500 giva rat's ass about what you did wit whateva gun?" Riley swallowed hard against the cold of the metal as it bit into the flesh over his trachea. Riley looked into the man's eyes; No anger. No malice or rage as he asked the question, just a level of collection that made Riley's blood run cold.

"N-no."

"Damn straight." Affirmed Thugnificent as he released the boy. "Now, this lovely little thing I hold here is my pride an' joy." The man said referring to the pistol—seeming unaffected by the fact of having just endangered a minor. "This here is a Smith and Wesson Model 500 Standard Compensator Revolver—2003, otherwise known as a _real_ gun." He looked at Riley. "Hell, it very well may be one of the most powerful handguns out there—plus it don't drop shells." He continued as he held up the weapon. "A nigga get hit wit a bullet from dis, whatevea body part struck is getting' blown the fuck off. An' guess what? I'm'll teach you how to use it."

Riley's eyes widened at this.

"What, you scared?" Thugnificent taunted.

"No…" Riley said taking an instinctive step back. "I jus…"

"Jus what? If you ain't scared, why the hell you backin' away fo? Get yo bony ass back close here an' hol'out cho han'."

When he came back near, Thugnificent placed the revolver in Riley's upturned palm. It was heavy and cold…he didn't want to hold it anymore.

"Now," the gangsta-rapper crowed. "Befo'you get to askin' stupid questions, I got my basement rigged up like a range. You lil nigga, will be the only person besides me and the people who set it up ta'see it. So thas a sign fo'you to keep yo mouth fuckin' shut about it so you don't say shit like you jus did bout yo boy Ed. You can file that shit right under the no snitchin' rule—don't _EVER_ give names Riley, you here me?" Riley gave a quick nod before the man continued. "Now com'on, we gots some work ta'do."

The basement was largely unfinished outside of the makeshift firing range that was worked into it. It was colder than the rest of the house and considerably darker by contrast. The walls were unpainted concrete, as was the floor and ceiling, making it ideal for such a setup that Thugnificent had. There were three stalls separated by thick Plexiglas with ear and eye protectors hanging on hooks in each of them. On the far end of the range, there was taped to the wall three targets, all with holes in them.

"Uh Thugnificent? If its jus you down here, why are there three spots to shoot from?"

Thugnificent scowled at the inquiry. "Ya'know, we really gunna hafta work on these dumb-ass questions you be askin'. I can shoot from whichever I want fool! Ain't nuthin' nowhere say'in I gotta shoot from jus one stall. Think befo' you open up yo mouth!"

"I was jus askin'! You don't hafta get mad!" Riley sneered…then immediately regretted the retort as Thugnificent snatched his arm harder than before to make his point.

"Look'it here. Youse jus a lil snot-nosed bitch that don't know when to shut the fuck up! You wanna be so fuckin' gangsta, you betta start actin' like it! Hard niggas don't be doin' what you do! You wanna be gangsta for real, some body gotta fuckin' teach you! You an' neva gunna know shit or be shit for jus watchin' the damn T.V. boy! Yo' granddaddy be beatin' dat ass widuh belt, well I beat dat ass widuh muthafuckin' fist ya heard? I'm yo teacher now boy, get used to it."

With that, he shoved the boy roughly into the stall and ordered him to put on the eye and ear ware. At a loss for words, Riley slowly put on the gear and awaited his next command. He had really gotten in over his head now.

The boy had watched his newly self-appointed instructor walk over to a large metal chest of drawers. The rapper walked back and promptly handed the boy a .45. At a little over two and a half pounds it seemed heavy in his small hand, Riley figured, but not nearly as much as the five pound Smith and Wesson monster he held shortly before.

"Now," said the man. "The magazine in this 1911 Colt Series 70 handgun is full. We'll empty it on practice shots so you can get use to the recoil. So take the gun and hold it like this…" The man stepped behind him and guided Riley's fingers over the weapon to demonstrate the proper grip. Once he was satisfied with both Riley's stance and grip on the gun, did he remove the safety and place on himself the eye and ear gear from another stall.

"Aim for the torso, the widest part. Pull the trigger only once ya'hear? There'll be some spring back from the gun, so don't ever lock yo'elbows unless you wanna break yo'arms. Shoot on my mark…FIRE!"

No sooner than he had discharged the weapon did there come an angry smack on the back of his braided head.

"Nigga how the fuck you g'wn shoot any damn thing wit _yo eyes closed_??!"

Riley looked up to see that not only had he missed the target completely, it was up near the ceiling.

"That's why niggas cain't shoot shit as it is! They be too scared ta'look! Take them protectors off so you can here me! Listen, you'll drop yo' enemies quicker if you keep yo eye on'em! The gun ain't gunna turn around an' poke you in yo' eyeball, damn! Put that shit back on yo head an' get ready ta'shoot again, an' this time don't blink!!!!"

It was a quarter after twelve when Thugnificent finally turned him loose to go home. As soon as he walked through the door, his grandfather immediately dug into him for going out without telling anyone, among other things. Only after did he finish his bitch-out did he ask Riley about is bruised up face. Giving him his fabricated excuse, Riley headed back upstairs to his shared bedroom. Huey once again was reading a book on some assorted subject on his bed.

It was a beautiful day, why wasn't he out enjoying it?

Riley climbed up onto his own bed and laid back. His arms ached terribly and his hands were still tingling from all the practice shots they fired. Apparently Thungificent had ammo by the ass-loads, because in the four or so hours he was there, he had to have shot off no less than two hundred rounds. Had he gotten better since the first round? Oh yes. He had to, because every time he blinked or missed the target, he'd get smacked or yelled at.

It was funny really. Most boys his age would probably run and tell a parent that they had even _seen_ a gun, certainly not begin training under a boogie gangsta-rapper on how to properly fire the damn things. He felt like a freggin' Iraqi insurgent! Riley rolled over on his side away from his brother, who he realized had not said anything to him yet. Riley thought about Gangstalicious and the trio of niggas who had been runnin' after him that time last year. In the end they tied him up and blindfolded the man so they could kill him—only to fail miserably because even at point-blank and with three people, they _STILL_ couldn't shoot him. It was shocking enough that they even hit him the first time at the concert! And it was what Thugnificent was talking about; you can't kill'em if you can't hit'em. But was that what Riley wanted? Money and bitches seemed a lot better, not to mention safer. Did you really have to kill someone to be considered gangsta? Was that what it was about? He had his doubts, but then again, Thugnificent had been pretty merciless toward him regarding this whole thing—not to mention, he _was_ apart of Lethal Interjection. Maybe this had some point.

It was stupid, and his family of course would never approve, but somehow, maybe this would give him an advantage he otherwise wouldn't have had? Yeah, that was it. Thugnificent wanted to see him tomorrow. He would go again. He was gunna prove that he at least wasn't afraid to do it, whether he wanted to or not. If he wanted to be a real gangsta, this is what it was gunna take…but still…it didn't make him feel any better.

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A/N: Ok, so this was one of those 'necessary evils' chapters, i.e. total snoozefest I know. I'll try my damnedest to crank out another chapter so this can chill on a relatively high note. Till next update. 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Ah, I love it when I'm ahead of schedule. Like I said, I know chapter six was bit dull, and I can't necessarily promise that this chapter is exactly ablaze with action either, but I am setting up something quite exciting which I think you all will like—if I can ever get to it! Thanks for staying with me this far. It will be such a treat for you guys that have been following this to see where this will actually be going! Once again, thanks for the support and tell me what you think! (Additionally, I think I _might_ change the summery—not sure).

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It had been three months since he first came under Thugnificent's tutelage, and somehow Riley had been able to keep it a secret from his brother and grandfather. After a while, Thugnificent admitted that he was impressed with Riley's development with small hand guns in such a short time. His marksmanship seemed to improve exponentially and had recently started hitting confined targets with impressive consistency, so much so that Thugnificent felt Riley was ready to learn techniques. 

"Ok, now I'll explain the three shot rule. Two body shots to shock an' incapacitate, usually to a lung an'uh organ like the liver or kidney, an' a head shot to kill. Obviously you can choose not shoot'em in the head if you ain't tryin' to kill'em right away, but you know, whus'a point of sparin'em? I want you to pick two spots on the target for yo'body shots, go."

Riley stepped into the center stall and selected his strike points, one towards the upper left of the torso, and the other near the bottom right—below the kidney. The shots rang out and two holes exploded on the target in the designated spots.

"Good!" He heard Thugnificent say aloud. "Riley, explain to me why you chose those spots."

The boy turned around and faced the man with his answer. "I picked the target's upper right shoulder cuz most people are right handed. It would probably cripple the dominate arm in a tender spot, shockin'em. I chose the second spot cuz it would make'em double-over to the front, makin'em use their good arm to catch themselves, removin' several possible retaliations."

Thugnificent nodded in approval. The boy was sharp.

"Thas wut I like'ta hear. Now, wit the head shot, why is aimin' jus for the face not always good?"

"Cuz it may not always take'em down."

"Right. Where should you aim for instead?"

"The tender spots—the eyes, an' neck. In profile, aim for the temple, and from the back aim for the base of'da neck, or behind the ears."

"Correct. You got the idea damn quick; I like it. What other critical body shots can you make while we talkin' bout it?"

"Uh…" Riley thought about it for a moment before continuing. "You can hit'em in the leg, on the upper thigh--"

"Why?" Thugnificent interjected.

"Umm, because you got those big arteries that go to an' from'da heart; you loose a lotta blood'dat way."

"Go on."

"…Uh, then you got the knees an' shins from the back an' front, an' you got the groin. Uh, another good spot is at the ankles; you can sever the tendons to'da foot an' cripple'em pretty good."

Thugnificent smiled. "You know dis shit, an' yo'aim is definitely on point. We'll work wit some other types of guns later, but I wanna start you on close combat. I'm'll show you how'ta use a blade an'ta fight unarmed. I'm gunna jus tell you now dat you better keep up cause I ain't gunna hold back much—I _promise_ you you gunna get cut, so no cryin' when the blood start hittin' the floor, ya'heard?"

The boy nodded. By that time it was four thirty in the afternoon. Riley wondered how much he wanted to cover that evening.

"Uh, how long? Cuz you know, I don't want ma'family gettin' suspicious."

Thugnificent crossed his arms. "I wanna show you stances, so I guess an hour. But when we done I want you ta'start workin' dat skinny ass body of yours cuz you ain't gunna be very effective wit'dim bitch-ass swings you got goin' right now. Do some push-ups, pull-ups, crunches an' other shit like dat. Oh, an' start runnin' too, every day. You jus a little too sheltered here in Crackerville fo'yo' own good. It'll build stamina an' endurance."

Later that night…

"Riley, can I talk to you for a second?"

The younger Freeman boy looked up from his PSP, of which he was not really paying any attention.

"Yeah?"

Riley met his brother's stare and was inwardly taken aback by its piercing intensity.

"What the hell do you do all the time when you go over to Thugnifient's? I heard that him an' the rest of Lethal Interjection are supposed to be workin' on another record, are you helpin' with that or what?"

Riley couldn't help but smile at himself over this. "Yeah, sumthin' like dat."

Huey blinked. "Well, what do you do?"

"Not much really, I jus kinda hang out an' help'em when they ask ya'know?"

Riley's brother continued to look at him, seemingly not wholly satisfied with the answer.

"Well, the reason I ask really is because you spend way too much time over there. It used to be that I really didn't care one way or the other an' left the bitchin' up to Grandad. But I think I hafta agree that you need to spend more time with people your own age."

Huh. Now wasn't this some shit? Just what the hell would Huey Freeman know about _anything_ to say something like that? All he sees is him just being over Thugnificent's house all the time. It wasn't like it weren't true, but more time with people his own age? That was quite the laughable statement.

"Wit who? You? Or maybe Jazmine? Das ok homie I'm cool, _really_."

"I'm not kidding Riley. I'm worried about you—it just doesn't seem right."

Riley rolled his eyes. "Nigga please. As much as you wanna believe err'body out'ta get err'body else, it ain't always like dat."

Huey shook his head. How was it so difficult for him to see that what he was doing was abnormal? What almost nine-year-old boy hangs with folks nearly three times his age? He didn't even go around Ed and Rummie like he used to, not to say that was a bad thing, but it seemed that Riley was only replacing one bad influence with another. Not to mention that Grandad was not being of very much help. He pretty much stopped trying to get Riley to listen to him, and it's not like he would just start listening to the ten-year-old brother. Although there was only one good thing Huey would say was coming from this—Riley didn't talk back to Grandad nearly as much as he used to—small victories Huey supposed.

"Tomorrow's Saturday Riley, whatchu got planned?"

"Goin' to Thugnificent's." He answered, having since returned to his game. Of course, what else could have Huey expected?

"Alright lil nigga you ready?" Thugnifcent asked as he walked toward his young protégé. When he was in front of him, he pulled from his pocket a slender piece of metal and handed it to Riley. The boy fiddled with it a second and realized what it was. "A butterfly knife?"

"Thas jus whut people call it cuz half of'em don't know wut it is. It's actually called a balisong, otherwise known as a butterfly knife—came from the Philippines. Da'one you got now was made in Japan an' it's what you'll work wit. I'm'll actually give you one that was made in the Philippines when you ready for it—them shits is the real deal. I'll teach you how to flip it later, but right now jus open it up so we can get started."

Thugnificent took time explaining proper stance and thrusts to use in a one-on-one. As his tutorial continued, he explained finally that a knife fight was a lot like a dance, you moved, your opponent moved and the better of the two drew the blood. These statements of course were based on a person who also knew how to fight with a knife, and seeing as that most 'dumb niggas' really didn't know how to, the boy would simply have a tactical advantage.

"Mostly its jus 'thrust, slash, parry' until you get the point across. Now, since you lil an' quick, you can get in, get out and keep goin'. I'll tell you not to really worry bout tryin'ta kill'a nigga wit a knife cuz in reality, it's pretty damn hard. Jus think of it as an opportunity you give yo'self to think about droppin'em in a better way. Also, don't waste yo'time tryin' ta block wit a knife, you'll jus lose some fingers or some shit like dat, ya'heard?"

As Thugnificent faced off with the young boy, he learned quickly that Riley would be quite the match for most knife-wielding adults. He would need some polish, but Riley was swiftly developing into a highly capable fighter—more than perfect for what the gangsta-rapper needed.

As the days passed, Riley began implementing the training regimen that Thugnificent put him on. Every day after school, he would do fifty sets of crunches, pull-ups, sit-ups, and push-ups followed by a run of several laps around the neighborhood to keep up his conditioning. Over the passed couple of days, Thugnificent had introduced a new facet of his training. In addition to the gun and knife work, hand-to-hand was now on the docket. In the beginning, Thugnificent wanted to see just what Riley knew about fighting. Decidedly unimpressed with his sloppy street-brawling, he informed the child that he would be teaching an adapted style that he found very effective, the Israeli Krav Maga. While Thugnificent himself was no master, he _did_ earn himself a green belt in the style, which was more than enough to train the boy on. Giving a brief history on the style, he told Riley that the most important thing about using Krav Maga was not to prolog a fight, but to get the job done and get out. He went on to tell him that learning Krav Maga was a potentially painful and dangerous experience, and that normally heavy pads were needed. "Since we ain't got none, you jus gunna hafta deal wit it." Was all the man said on the matter.

And of course all of this made Riley wonder just what the hell was going on. Why exactly did he need to know all of this? Somewhere in his musings though, Riley felt that he should just stop trying to figure it out. If he learned nothing else from this man, Riley would _damn_ sure know how to fight—and how to lie. He had been using his exercise routine to explain away all the bandages on his hands. Thugnificent hadn't been exaggerating when he told him he would bleed. There were several times when Riley had cut himself trying to flip open his balisong single-handedly. Thankfully Thugnificent was not hitting him the way he used to, but maybe that was only because there was no need when the boy would just injure himself when he made mistakes.

In some odd way, he felt that he needed the direction that he was getting from the older man. Even Riley noticed that his behavior seemed to be improving slightly. He didn't mouth off to his grandfather, or make cutting insults to his classmates like he had before, and his grades were improving. Despite this though, he knew that Huey knew something was up. Riley could tell his older brother couldn't put his finger on it, but Riley knew Huey wasn't one to let himself stay in the dark when he could do something about it. He just hoped that Huey wouldn't start snooping about—Thugnificent wouldn't take well to having anyone learn what was going on—hell, this _had_ to be illegal in some kind of way.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: It has been very interesting watching this story develop. Ya'll may agree with me that something should probably be happening soon—and it shall. Coming chapters 9 and 10 should have a substantial gear shift. The weight of the strain on Riley is wearing _me_ down; I've got to lighten the mood!!! ; (Shout out to my boy Mr. Williams, good lookin' out S!!!)

* * *

Riley bobbed his head to the beat of Thugnificent's newest track. Fortunately the T.V. spot that he did a few months back had been paying off and sales were stable. He watched as several other members of Lethal Interjection worked with Thugnificent to help give the track flare. Thungnificent had figured the one they were working on now would be a hit and he and the boy concurred—the energy of the beat was high and the force of the bars brought you to near fever pitch. Riley smiled a bit as he realized that this track would eventually be played in clubs around the country. It was something to be proud of he supposed. 

The section went on for about three hours. At its conclusion, Thugnificent announced that he would be throwing a party to commemorate the release of the album that was street dated for late next month.

"Ay Rizil, I don't wanna hear no bitchin' from yo'grandaddy bout all the cars eh?" Thugnificent smiled widely as he and the other crew members laughed at the statement.

Riley smiled as well as he returned with his own snappy comment. "Ay, I was goin'ta the kitchen, ya'll want sumthin'?"

"Yeah, bring out dat Coors Lite in'dere." Said Thugnificent.

When Riley was out of sight of the others, he allowed his pleasant air to run away from him. He hated it when Thugnificent called him Rizil—even though it was Riley who had coined the term for himself. Thugnificent only called him Rizil around the others, and that was only to keep up the facade. While in his current success, Thugnificent had allowed himself to be written off as 'studio gangsta'. His rational was that it was what people expected—its what sold.

Thugnificent and other artists like him rapped about a life that most couldn't relate to, but it was exactly that which fueled gangsta-rap's popularity. In reality, the average person probably wouldn't even _want_ to live the harder life that rap artists wrote about—most people only saw the money, glamour, and fast living, like Riley. While he himself hadn't been exposed to whatever Thugnificent had been, it was slowly becoming apparent to the young gangsta apprentice that all that glittered was not gold. It wasn't at all unlike what Gangstalicious had described to him while they had been locked in that trunk. He never really did any of those things he rapped about; he just got…caught up.

It was true that gangsta-rapper Thugnificent was from the smoking crater of Terra-Belle Georgia, but it was believed such a fact didn't necessarily mean he was an extension of his violent and derelict-ridden home town. At least, that's what he wanted people to think. Riley had asked once before what exactly it was that he did back home for him to know, or rather need to know, all the things that he was teaching him. His response was a slap to the back of the head and for him not to worry about 'shit he did'. After that, Riley knew not to ask about Thugnificent's past exploits. Riley figured though that whatever it was, Thugnificent wanted to keep those skeletons safely tucked away. And that was fine, but Riley simply found it interesting that the members of Lethal Interjection, who assumed they were all so close to Thugnificent, seemed to know very little about him. They were the _real_ studio gangstas, as Thugnificent had put it. And that was why Riley hated it when he called him Rizil. It was a falsity that covered up what was really going on.

Riley grabbed the twelve pack of light beer and headed back for the living room.

There was nothing especially thrilling about this pseudo-double life he was leading. Well, at least not for the sake of the thrill itself. It was worrisome really, and he wasn't particularly comfortable with keeping his training activities secret…but whatever.

"Yeah, so of course word is gettin' out bout the new record so there already groupies an'shit linin' up for the next whateva, an' the shit ain't even planned yet!" Thugnificent boomed amongst his cohorts. Riley had since walked up with the beers and placed them on the table. As the group leaned in to take their respective cans, Thugnificent flashed him a grin. "An' we all know that our Young Rizil gunna be our bouncer, right?"

All the men, save Thugnificent, erupted into boisterous laugher at the suggestion. Riley grinned sheepishly at the attention, but knew Thugnificent was quite serious. Riley was fully aware that it fell on him to regulate on anyone who decided to get a bit too rowdy. A test of sorts one would suppose.

The thought was kind of exhilarating, being counted on to police the scene and possibly having to put to use the skills he'd been learning. While he was sure he wouldn't have to open up a full can of woop-ass, there was no doubt _someone_ would get handled some kind of way.

"So, when you g'wn have this party?" Macktastic asked.

"I figured Saturday after nex; give folks time ta'get excited an'shit."

After about another fifteen minutes had passed, Riley excused himself. One good thing about the others being there was that it meant that Riley could get a break from training. Back home, Riley headed for the shower. Inside the bathroom, the only place he could get any real degree of privacy, he took care to remove his sports tape and bandages. Most of the smaller cuts had scabbed over and healed, but the deeper ones still needed dressing. After all the wraps were removed, Riley took a moment to examine his appendages. His once smooth and even-toned skin was now pockmarked with slash marks and bruises. The Krav Maga training was the most brutal. Lately Thugnificent had been more forceful in his punches and kicks, not to mention the speed of his throws. Riley mentally winced at the memories of being constantly hurtled to the icy concrete of Thugnificent's basement floor during the grapples. While his fists were always wrapped during practice, the frequency of the punches to the pads Thugnificent did actually purchase caused his knuckles to bleed. Riley could get over it though, but the thing he didn't care for were all the damn marks left on his body. He had complained about it before and Thugnificent had simply told him to stop letting him make contact so often. Riley did admit though that his reaction time had increased dramatically. It used be that Thugnificent would always make contact with his face, but Riley's desire to keep his face relatively bruise free for risk of giving himself away to his family, made him a very quick defender. On that same token, he had been practicing on turning his defends into offences. Every now and again he would catch Thugnificent and bruise him a little too—Riley couldn't help but gain satisfaction from this. At the point he was at now, Riley could seriously fuck a nigga up in several potentially deadly ways. Not but a few days back did Thugnificent suggest that Riley find some Krav Maga training centers—it was possible that he would put up the cash to pay for additional training during the summer months just so Riley's skill would improve—which, combined with all the other weapon training, would effectively turn Riley into a killer.

And the thought chilled him to the core.

Now underneath the running water, Riley washed slowly, partly because he wanted to take care going over his bruised and tender flesh, and partly because he simply wasn't focused. Riley could never remember a time when he felt more distracted about anything, and it unnerved him. Sometimes he thought his brother was right and that he should try hanging with more kids his age. Maybe it would help alleviate some of his straying thoughts—maybe, if Thugnificent would allow it. Much of Riley's free time had been dedicated to training under the gangsta-rapper. When he wasn't with him or at school, he was with his family—leaving no time for himself to be alone and decompress. It was part of the reason he showered so much more now—to rinse off the blood and sweat, and so he could fucking be _alone_. Maybe he was depressed; who the hell knew?

Thursday of…

"Whutup nigga. Word around the block says you thowin' wuna'them rich nigga parties. I'd like ta come thew…if you don't mine."

The slow draw of the voice on the phone caused Thugnificent's eyes to narrow. Why was _he_ calling?

"Nigga, how'da hell you get this numba?"

"Aw com'own man, you know wees go waaay back. I cain't look a nigga up?"

"Cut the shit nigga, whut'da fuck you want?"

The voice's draw slowed even more. "Why I gotta want suhum?"

"Whatevea nigga. If you wanna come thew, I cain't really stop you—jus don't start no shit when you get here."

Friday of…

The boys had been walking home from school in silence. Oddly enough, despite the fact that they occupied the same bedroom, dialog between them had become nonexistent. Huey had glanced over to Riley for the first time since they left the school grounds; Riley was looking ahead. Huey watched him for a second before facing back himself.

"I would be remiss if I didn't ask you not to go to that party tomorrow night."

Silence.

"This is me asking you not to go Riley."

More silence.

Huey drew in an audible breath through his nose. Riley didn't even try to respond. Hell, it used to be that he could any raise, no matter how small out of Riley—and it seemed now that his little brother had become so disturbingly distant, it made Huey want to choke him. He remained calm though as he looked at him again.

"Riley why won't you talk to me?"

Again silence.

"Riley--"

"There ain't nothin'ta say." Came his solitary response—having not once looked at his brother. He was strumming nerves now.

Huey snatched back the arm of his brother to look him in the face. Riley's eyes remained closed for a moment before he opened them back—his face expressionless during the event. And even though only seconds were passing, the silence in the space between them seemed to span ages. There was so much Huey wanted to know, yet the mind to form the proper questions eluded him somehow.

Riley stared back into those fiery brown eyes, knowing just exactly what they wanted to ask him. What Riley wanted to tell him but wouldn't, and simply couldn't explain why. A critical point was being reached.

"You can let go of my arm now." Said Riley in a subdued tone.

Huey gripped the bicep in his hand a little longer before finally releasing it. Why couldn't Riley see his frustration? Why was he being like this? _Why_? The younger brother said nothing more as he began walking way.

If that was the way he was going to be, then fine. Huey had drug Riley out of Thugnificent's house before, this would be no different.

The boys continued they're walk home, silence enduring. This couldn't go on forever, they both knew. It was just a matter of when things set itself back right between them, hopefully sooner than later.

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A/N: Ok, that's done. Next chapter I CAN promise a scuffle. Something to look forward to. Happy Holidays you guys! 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I had to kick my muse outta the bed for this one, she was oversleeping! Plus it looks like my longest chap yet! Anyway, I don't know if I'll update again before the beginning of the year, but if I don't, I think this is a good place to stop. Don't own Boondocks. Language, swearing. (So what else is new, eh?)

* * *

Riley stood at the base of the staircase banister watching the party goers pass by. The air in the main corridor was thick with blunt toke and everything smelled heavily of alcohol. The party only started an hour ago, but in that time, one could probably open their own mini-bar with all the alcohol that had been wasted on the floor. 

The boy looked on without interruption, as he went unnoticed by the people there. Even though he was underneath people's visible perception due solely to his lack of height, Riley had made sure to dress inconspicuously while on his watch. He wore a light grey tall-tee with a matching hat at Thugnificent's suggestion because it would blend in with all the smoke that would be hanging in the air. Riley was thankful for the largeness of the shirt because it covered up for the most part the well fit of his denim cargo jeans. Ever since he became old enough to do it, he'd sag his pants whenever he could, and now that he lived with his grandfather, he would just buy his pants bigger than he needed.

But now that he was 'on duty', sagged jeans were highly impractical. Should he need to act, he couldn't tie up one hand holding on to his pants so they wouldn't fall as he maneuvered. No, it wasn't very 'gangsta' wearing properly sized jeans, but nether was unintentionally having your pants around your ankles.

On his feet was a pair of amber-colored Dickies steel-toed boots purchased by Thugnificent. Once again, the boy wasn't exactly stylin', but he was ready for action. In one of the left leg pockets was the Pilipino balisong Thugnificent promised him. In his right boot, a single shot hand gun whose sole purpose was to 'buy time'. While it was a fact that Riley was right-handed, Thugnificent had been training him to wield his balisong in his left hand to help throw right-handed enemies off. In addition, Riley also carried in his pockets a pair of brass knuckles. In the event of a problem, his 'instructor' wanted him to cause as much damage as possible.

As Riley surveyed the scene, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about knowing he could actually kill someone if he _wanted_ to. Doing his best to push the thought away, a shadow had come over him and remained there. He looked up.

"Uh, ain't you a little young to be hangin' around a place like this?"

It was a woman dressed some barely-there red scrunchy thing. It was a strapless club dress whose bottom hem came down to just below the curve of her ass. She was already incredibly tall, but the black four inch strappy-lace heels practically turned her into a stilt-walker. _And _she wasn't any underwear; not that Riley _wanted _to look, but the disparity in their heights made it damn near impossible for him _not_ to notice.

"Damn hoe, I know you horny an'I'm the right height'an shit, but you need'ta take that Kudzu patch somewhere else." Riley said pointing with his thumb behind him. The woman recoiled with a deep sneer, then let her face relax, offering a chuckle as she did.

"Alright bebe, you got it. I don't wanna get locked-up for enticin' a minor or nuthin', so I'll jus leave that one alone an'be on my way."

Riley rolled his eyes as the woman walked away. If he knew this was something he had to look forward to tonight, he'd just as well've burned his eyes out before the party.

Feeling as though his current position had been compromised, he decided to change his location.

Staying along the wall, he figured he comb the floor. As he rounded the free-standing wet-bar, he spotted a couple getting a little too friendly for his tastes. The sight of roaming hands and lustful stares nearly made his skin crawl. Feeling the noose of his immaturity tighten, he continued on his round. There was actually very little room to move despite the expanse of Thugnificent's living room corridor. As he wound through the forest of clothed and bare legs, he noticed Thugnificent chatting it up with some random white chick. Deciding to not approach him, Riley made his way towards the kitchen. Inside there were several people mingling around some sort of deli platter talking drunkenly about nothing—not even noticing the presence of an eight-year-old who otherwise should not have been there.

After making sure everything was clear, Riley continued into the backyard. On the far end of the pool area, Flownominal was nursing on a drink talking to a light-skinned girl in black. Off to the left, Macktastic was following suite with a brunette—nothing out of the ordinary.

Riley was preparing to return inside when he caught sight of something not found in Woodcrest, a rusted out Chevy Cutlass Supreme. While it was dark, and Riley couldn't well make it out, he was sure it was an 88'. And it seemed like Thugnificent's was the car's destination.

Huey looked to the clock on the toolbar of his computer.

11:42.

Just exactly how long was it going to be until his brother decided to cut the crap and come home? When he left Huey didn't try to stop him, but he did say that if he didn't come back in two hours he was going to call the police. When Huey said this, he was sure that Riley would throw the biggest fit he could, calling him 'lame' and possibly a 'bitch-ass snitch'. But no such thing happened. Huey gave him the ultimatum and the younger boy just looked at him for a second and left without saying a single word—or even giving so much as an indignant glare.

Huey sighed. He actually had no intention of calling the police, he would just assume drag his brother out by his trails of his cornrows if he had to, but he wanted to see Riley's reaction to the threat. And he didn't—that was what worried Huey.

The older Freeman boy paced a bit. He was hoping that he didn't have to go over there and collect his brother. He really wanted to believe that Riley would actually come home on his own, but something told Huey that that was an unlikely scenario. He just hoped there wouldn't be a scene when he went to go get him.

When Riley had returned to the main party area, he began to look for Thugnificent. It wasn't long before he spotted him near the front talking to a man who looked as much out of place there as Riley did.

Once again forgoing the idea to approach the gangasta-rapper while engaged in conversation, Riley hung back as he watched the two men walk towards the staircase leading upstairs. The expression on Thugnificent's face, from what Riley could see at least, was less than friendly. Riley watched as the two walked up the stairs to Thugnificent's room and closed the door behind them. Riley made one last glance around the room to see if anyone had seen what he saw. Once he was sure that everyone in the area was absorbed in their own indulges, he proceeded up the steps to the closed door. Riley paused as he reached it, not sure of what to do next, then figured the worst that could happen was Thugnificent chastising him for being there. Besides, it wasn't like he could hear anything through the door anyway. Gingerly grabbing the handle, Riley pulled down and pushed the door in slightly allowing himself to slip in.

Inside the strange man, turned around to see what had interrupted them. He was at least a foot shorter than Thugnificent. Dressed in pale green sweats and a hoody, he looked like something that just fell out of the wheel-well of a 747. Riley hadn't noticed it before, but the clothes the man wore were dirty, worn and faded. His skin had an inexplicable sheen was as black and greasy as an Exxon oil spill. His odor could be smelled halfway across the room.

Who da'hell dat is?" The man drawled slowly, not removing bloodshot eyes from the small intruder.

"Don't try'an change the subject ya'nasty-ass nigga. You need'ta be concerned wit whuts goin' down right in front'a yo'stank ass." Thugnificent said icily.

Riley felt his blood quicken at the threatening tone in Thugnificent's voice. What the hell were they talking about before he came?

Thugnificent grabbed a fist full of the man's clothes when he failed to face him again.

"I _said_ whut are you here for? Cuz you shaw'll as hell not _hollain' atcha boy_." Thugnificent sneered viscously at the man in his grasp.

Riley's eyebrows furrowed in worried anticipation as he lowered himself into a open stance, left hand at his side ready to bring to bear the balisong hiding in the well-placed cell phone pocket.

"I'm jus tellin' you whut they told me! Now let go'a me…" The man said dangerously.

Thugnificent increased the grip he had on the man's clothes as he began to make him light on his feet.

It was almost too fast for Riley.

The shine of the blade arced like lightning as it raced towards the gangsta-rapper's face. As soon as the assailant's arm was extended, Thugnificent let go of the man's clothes, and with that same hand he had been holding him with, crushed the man's attacking wrist in a vice-like grip, snatching him downward, so that his chin would be in the direct line of his throttling fist. Too slow to realize that he was now free after Thugnificent released his arm, the man remained bent over as Thugnificent's left fist made a temporary home in the pliable cartilage of his nose. The man tumbled over backwards once after finally hitting the floor, then somehow began climbing to his feet.

Now it was time for Riley to act.

While the man was struggling to stand, Riley snatched his balisong from his leg pocket and flipped it open while in full sprint. Riley couldn't even feel his weighted feet touch the floor as he closed the distance between him and his target. It was almost in slow motion as Riley plunged the blade into the back of the man's thigh. Still in forward motion, Riley gave the blade a twist and continued to rake the ultra-sharp knife through cloth and flesh until the blade sprung free from the now screaming man.

Redirecting his momentum as if in a shuttle run to quickly face the assailer, Riley grabbed the heel of the man's right foot and pulled forward, causing him to hit the floor hard and completely flat on his back. Effectively stunned for the third time in thirty seconds, he didn't see as Riley brought up his Dickies steel-toed boot and promptly stomped it into the man's stomach. He jerked upwards and Riley raced around towards his head and pinned him like a high school wrestler with his right arm into a firm chokehold. With his left hand free, Riley brought the blade of his balisong up to the wildly flashing throat under his arm.

"Don't move nigga or I'll slice yo'shit wide open." The boy said to the man with devastating calmness.

Thugnificent scowled has he put his hand to his face to wipe away the blood. He walked over to the subdued man and knelt down.

"See nigga, this is the kinda shit that happens when you fuck wit Nificent! Look at yo'nasty ass leakin' blood all over my fuckin' carpet! You know how hard it is ta'get blood outta any Goddamn thing??!" He screamed into his face. "Now you listen ta'me nigga. I want you ta'hobble yo' cripple ass back out ta'dat shitter of a ride you got an' tell'em _NOBODY FUCKS WIT NIFICENT_!" The gangsta-rapper then leapt to his feet then brought a heavy boot down on the man's right knee. At that point Riley wasn't sure which was louder, the man's shriek or the sound of the leg bones popping free of the cartilage housing within his knee.

"Suck it the fuck up, Nigga!" Riley spat as the man continued to whale his agony against his arm. The boy continued to hold Thugnificent's attacker fast as the gangsta-rapper walked over to his window and opened it. Looking down outside for a second, he came back to the man and grabbed the front of his hoody. Riley let go as he watched Thugnificent drag the injured man to the window.

"Ok, Mike…as the host uh'dis here social gatherin', it would be a bad on my part if I was ta'allow you to disturb my guests wit yo'blood, yo'ugly an'yo'stank. Now I do believe das yo ride out'derr, so I'm sure you won't mine leavin' thew'duh window. But don't worry; the sticker bushes out'derr'll break yo'fall. Sayonara nigga." And with that, out the window he went.

Riley could hear a few pained screams, then a lot of rustling. Finally, 'Mike' could be seen hobbling most horribly back to the car he arrived in. Given the injuries he sustained, it was a miracle he survived at all. The two watched as the man struggled into his car and drove away.

Thugnificent let out a satisfied snort before looking down at Riley.

"Good work lil nigga. Dat' was good shit."

Riley didn't say anything in response. He only looked down to his arm that still bore the sweat of the man's neck. He rubbed his arm off on the excess of his shirt.

"Uh, Thugnificent? I think I'll go home now, if-if I can."

The man looked down at the boy for a moment, then captured the brim of Riley's hat between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it off of his head. Riley closed his eyes and ducked a bit as Thugnificent's rose up his paw of a hand. To his surprise though, Thugnificent merely rubbed his palm into his cornrows for a second, then replaced the cap.

As the two headed downstairs, they both noticed at the same time that unmistakable swell of hair that belonged to Huey Freeman. Riley and Thugnificent stopped on the stairs as Huey walked up to them.

"Excuse me Thugnificent," he began. "While I have absolutely no desire to know what just went on in that room for you and my brother to be walking out of it alone, I want you to know that I don't appreciate you keeping my brother the way you do when you know he's just a child. It's after twelve in the morning and I have come to collect my brother. As I've told him before, I cannot control what you do sir, but I can direct the actions of my younger sibling."

Huey looked to Riley. "Come on. I'm taking you home."

Riley glanced up at Thugnificent, then began walking towards his brother without reservation. There was no further exchange of words until Riley had gotten closer to Huey.

"I respect that Mr. Freeman. As the good bible said, if you are not your brother's keeper, who is?"

Huey stared intently at the man as Riley walked passed him. Only when Huey felt that enough distance had been placed between his brother and the gangsta-rapper did he turn to follow Riley.

While crossing the street, Riley couldn't help but inquire.

"I guess its been more than two hours. Why didn't you call the police like you said?" Huey was quite before he answered.

"Don't be worried about the reason why Riley. I was just doing what I've should've done a long time ago." He said putting his hands in his pockets.

Riley looked ahead at their house. Even though he wouldn't openly admit it, Riley was glad Huey had come for him. Huey didn't know what was going on, and he probably wouldn't understand at first if he did, but Riley knew one thing: If nothing else, he could count on his brother; it was the reassurance Riley had unknowingly been searching for these few months passed.

In the dark of the night Huey wouldn't have been able to see the subtle smile that tugged on his younger brother's lips. Just then Riley had thought back to their time in Chicago when they were younger still. Riley remembered one winter evening when the two were crossing the street with their mother, and Huey had taken his hand. It made him feel safe.

For a moment that feeling returned to him and Riley silently thanked God for his brother. With what had just transpired mere minutes ago, he knew then he would be needing him more than ever when the time came.

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A/N: I guess this could signify a small pause in the main story arc? I'll be changing it up next chapter, just so things don't get stale. It'll be a brief detour, but I think it'll make for a better story in the end. Watch and see what happens, I shalln't disappoint! Till next update. 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Happy 2008! I hope that everyone had safe and enjoyable New Year. As I said before, I had to take a bit of a break, but I'm back! I've passed my Commercial Written Exam and will be studying for my FOI (Fundamentals of Instruction) and CFI (Certified Flight Instructor) Written Exams and will be taking them probably before the end of this month. By June I should be a full-fledged Helicopter Flight Instructor! Yaaaay!! I've finally added an avatar to my profile, so if you wanna see what I look like, check it out.

* * *

5 a.m. and Riley was wide awake. He watched the shadow of trees born from light of streetlamps dance on the spackled ceiling as the wind blew outside. The only sound inside the room was the soft snore that rose from his brother as he quietly slept.

Up until then Riley's sleep that night had been restless, with him finally rousing much earlier than anticipated due to his mind's inability to slumber. Blinking a few times, Riley swung slender legs over the side of his bed and sat. By his foot were his discarded jeans, left in a careless heap after he had undressed hours before. Bending down to collect them, he pulled the garment into his lap and sifted through the many pockets. From the right front pocket, he pulled the pair of brass knuckles given to him by Thugnificent. He placed them on the bed together; their metal meeting on the sheets with a soft clink. In the cell phone pocket of the left leg, he pulled his Pilipino-crafted balisong and held it as he let the pants slide from his lap. Riley fiddled with the weapon for a few minutes…staring at it. Even in the low light of the darkened room, he could make out the blood that remained on the blade.

The blood.

He made that man bleed. Never mind that he deserved it for attacking Thugnificent; Riley had made that man bleed in a way that no child his age should ever have to make anyone bleed. The memory for Riley had been clear.

It was like puncturing soft leather. If Riley hadn't been moving so quickly, the flesh might not have yielded as easily. Or not. The blade of the balisong was very sharp and did its work well.

Riley's brow knitted together as he perfectly recalled the line of blood that trailed the tip of his knife after it had come free of the thigh he lacerated. Had some of that blood gotten on his shirt? He didn't know; he hadn't looked. It didn't feel important to him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the foreign sweat again on his right arm—the press of the man's throat against his forearm as he held him in place with fear, not strength.

It was starting to sink in he supposed.

Riley licked his suddenly dry lips and stood up from the bed. Moving quietly, he headed for the bathroom. Inside with the door closed and locked, the boy began to feel ill. In a daze it seemed, he let his eyes drag from the mats on the floor to the wallpaper, to the towels—the tub—the sink—the tile on the walls. He was hot and dizzy. Standing barefoot on icy tiles, he waited for the wave to subside.

'Come on Riley, its all in yo'head, jus be easy.' The boy's inner voice whispered. Moving over to the sink, he pulled up the stopper and let the basin fill about half way with cold water. Feeling the level sufficient, Riley turned off the water, then lowered his head into it enough for his eyes, forehead and forward hairline to be submerged. Riley gave a weary sigh as the cold water on his searing forehead gave almost instant relief. Remaining there for a few moments more, he straightened back up and allowed the water soaked up by his braided hair to drain down his face and onto his shoulders--holding on to his balisong all the while.

It was retracted now, his blade—blood setting into the metal hidden within the handles. He stared at it a bit longer, water droplets falling from his brow to his wrist as he looked down at the weapon in his left hand. Finally Riley bared the blade and lowered it into the water of the sink. He rubbed his thumbs over the steel warmed by his body heat until all the blood he could see had washed off. Letting the water drain out after setting the balisong on the edge of the basin, Riley grabbed a towel and patted his head dry.

Taking a deep breath, Riley felt himself getting better. The water seemed to help clear his mind. He would need to be cool so as not to let onto his brother and grandfather the bizarre thoughts banging round his consciousness. Just as well, he didn't need to be a head case when he went to school on Monday. Riley had figured he would take his brother's advice on being around other like-aged children. He needed something to counteract the innocence robbing experience that had so recently etched itself into Riley's memory.

"Uh, hey Riley?"

It was a quarter past noon at J. Edgar Hoover Elementary and the cafeteria was abuzz with the diurnal clamor that was feeding time. The school heads had staggered the start of lunches for the different grades, having K-2nd enter first, 3rd and 4th next, then 5th and 6th last. The idea was to keep the students rotating. Staggered or not though, for about five minutes everyday the entire student body converged on the northern side of the building to consume their meals.

It was a far cry for Riley, seeing that sea of white faces all the time as opposed to the predominantly black school he and his brother had transferred from. Despite the fact that he had been in Woodcrest for nearly two years, he still couldn't feel completely comfortable being one of ten or so people of color in the school—and just because you were a person of color didn't necessarily mean you were black. With the exception of maybe one or two faculty members (just to say the school system employed minorities including those of African-American descent) Riley was sure he and his brother were the _only_ two wholly black students in the entire building.

Up until a few seconds ago, he had been picking at the breaded Salisbury steak and 'gravy food product' that was on his tray while leaning his face heavily on the left arm he propped it on. For his sides, he had unsalted, thus unflavored green beans, cardboard mashed potatoes still in the perfect half sphere of the scoop that had portioned it, chocolate milk in a carton, and for desert, tasteless banana pudding. Even the affluent Woodcrest schools weren't immune to shitty cafeteria food—which probably explained why so many kids brought their lunches from home.

Now, a sack lunch from the house was nothing new to Riley. Mother would say from time to time that money was tight and that food from home could go further from week to week. There was even a time when he and Huey took bologna and mayonnaise sandwiches with some crackers to school everyday for a month with only water from school to drink. _These_ white kids were bringing shit like basil chicken in orange sauce and yogurt smoothies to eat. There was actually a girl next to him right then eating penne pasta with olive oil, diced tomatoes, parmesan cheese and garlic with _Fiji_ water to drink. Really, what 3rd grader would drink such superciliously priced bottled water with a freggin' school lunch?? Riley had been fighting the urge to slap the three-dollar-a-bottle drinking water out of her hand ever since they sat down.

He had been wallowing in his jaded thoughts for the past ten minutes before the voice to his left had called him out of it. He lifted his eyes to meet the timid, if not bashful gaze of a sandy-haired blue-eyed boy.

"C-can I sit with you?" The boy asked shyly.

Riley raised a single eyebrow without moving his head much from its prop. Why the hell was he asking?

"If you want." He replied while working to plaster his most severe 'who gives a fuck' expression on his face.

The boy smiled gingerly as he took the empty seat at the end of the table. Riley had since returned to picking at his food as the newcomer sat. He only looked at the boy again when he felt his eyes on him too long.

"Nigga whutchu lookin' at?" Riley inquired tiredly and without effort.

"Nothing. I'm Cory, by the way. Cory Whitehead!" The boy replied with an eagerness that seemed a little too joyful for Riley's tastes.

After a few moments more transpired without any additional dialog, Riley felt himself beginning to annoy. This Cory person hadn't even touched whatever he had in his thermal lunch bag for him looking at Riley the entire time.

"Don't you know it ain't polite ta'stare." Riley said at last.

The boy continued to smile. "Sorry, I just think you're cool."

_What_? Was this lil white nigga _gay_ or something?? Riley wasn't even sure he wanted to continue sharing the same space with this kid—but then thought better of it. All while attending J. Edgar Hoover Elementary, Riley, like his brother, hadn't made any attempts at forging any type of friendship with any of the other students—well, except for Jazmine, but she didn't count. This was mostly because as far as school was concerned, the Freeman brothers wanted only to keep to themselves. But in light of all the things that had been going on, maybe at least an acquaintanceship would be beneficial.

"Whatevea nigga." Riley replied at last. "You in my class or sumthin'? I have a hard time tellin' cuz you know you white folks get ta'lookin' alike after while."

"Yeah! I sit over by the teacher in the front!." The boy returned, seemingly oblivious of the insult Riley had just tossed him.

"I just hadn't had the nerve to come up and introduce myself." Cory looked thoughtful for a second before his posed his next question. "Do you wanna play kickball at recess this afternoon?"

Kickball at recess? Riley was never the type to play anything with others. But whatever. He would be nice this time and agree.

"All right! It'll be fun!" The boy exclaimed as he finally took out his lunch—a southwestern style panini with _baked_ Lay's potato chips and white-cranberry juice. What the fuck?

By the end of recess, Riley found it amazing that he didn't beat the crap out of one of those white kids just for being stupid. That lame-ass kickball game was a total joke, but the others had seemed to have fun. Riley just shrugged it off and resolved to never play in a group with that ball again unless it was dodge ball. When school was just about out, Cory had come up to him to say how much fun he had and that he'd see him tomorrow.

Riley had rolled his eyes thinking he'd have to cut this kid off if he didn't quit acting like such a fuckin' groupie.

When school was over, Riley opted not to go straight home. He stayed in the yard and watched the other kids run about to buses and rides. About five minutes had gone by when Riley had caught sight of him; Butch Magnus Milosevic, the fat fuck that had jacked his chain a while back. That dude had beat the shit outta him last time, and now that Riley was reconditioned, a rematch didn't at all seem out of the question. This would be an excellent outlet for his frustrations—and as an added bonus, would receive the adoration of most of the student body for taking out the neighborhood bully.

A vengeful smile spread across his face as Riley moved to go pick his fight. Quickly devising his strategy of how to best fell the Caucasian behemoth, he was stopped short by a familiar voice calling his name. He turned to see that it was Jazmine.

"Hey Riley, have you seen Huey anywhere?" The girl asked. She seemed to be worried about something.

Riley faced back to Butch who was busy casting an ominous shadow over by the playground—oblivious. Riley sucked in his lips and held them there as he debated over speaking with Jazmine or getting his payback. There were plenty of people around. Which was good; he wanted Milosevic's humiliation to be public.

"I just needed to speak with him for a second." Riley heard the girl say.

Damn. "Naw I ain't seen'em." Riley replied turning back quickly. His aggravation must have been apparent because she shied away a bit.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry Riley. I guess I'll just see you later then."

Well that wasn't every nice. Riley immediately began to feel guilty for snapping at Jazmine. It wasn't her fault he had blood on the brain.

"Naw, it's cool. What's wrong witchu anyway?" He offered. Butch would have to wait he guessed.

Jazmine began to redden as she looked to her feet. "Well, I was hoping Huey could help me with a bit of a problem I've been having."

Having not ever really been one to concern himself with other people's problems unless it came with a benefit, Riley could have easily ended the conversation there with little more than a shrug. However, he found himself curious about the mulatto girl's issue.

"Well, what is it?"

"Uh, umm, well…" She began slowly. "I was wondering if Huey could give me some advice, so…"

"So what? Huey ain't the only one who know shit. Why don't'chu ask me?"

Jazmine stared at the younger Freeman boy for a second considering the question. Well, Riley wasn't exactly Dr. Phil, but maybe he could give a different perspective on the matter.

"Actually, it's these girls. They keep teasing me because I'm mixed and I want to try and get them to stop. I could just tell on them, but I think they may come after me later if I tattle on them."

"Well dat's easy. Make them bitches pay!" Riley said matter-of-factly.

"Pay? Pay what?" Jazmine asked, blinking her large green eyes.

"Whutchu mean 'pay what'? Wit a foot up they ass, what else?"

"You mean, like…fight?"

"Hell yeah! How else you gunna get them hoes ta'stop talkin' shit? Jus stomp they asses one good time an' they won't have shit else to say."

Jazmine grimaced a bit. How else could she have expected Riley Freeman to respond?

"I don't think so Riley. I never made trouble before in my life, and plus, I don't think my parents would approve…"

"What??" Riley was incredulous. "Girl, who gives a damn what yo'parents approve? Day'ain't gunna fight yo'battles fa'you! You gotta handle yo'shit yo'own self…Unless you want dem hoes tearin' into yo'ass every time that nappy head walk by." He said smugly folding his arms.

"Well, no but--"

"But what? I'm tellin' you beat dem hoes and you'll be good."

"But--"

"Hoe is you listenin'?"

"Riley--"

"Ok fine. Don't say I ain't try ta'help cuz you ain't even tryin' ta' hear a damn thing I'm sayin'."

"Riley it'll be three against one!" Jazmine whined. "Even if I did try to fight, they'd just beat me up because I'd be by myself! Plus nice girls don't fight anyway. I'd be giving myself a bad reputation!"

Riley narrowed his eyes at his neighbor.

"Girl, come'ere." He said as he took hold of her right wrist and began walking.

"Hey wait, where are we going?!" Jazmine protested as Riley dragged her along.

It wasn't until the two were fairly secluded before he finally released her. Jazmine took a quick look around before facing him with her hands on her hips.

"Riley Freeman, just what do you think you're doing? I'm not going to kiss you if that's what you're up to." She fussed.

Riley recoiled with a sneer. "Shut the hell up Jazmine, I ain't gunna kiss you! I was gunna say that if you want, I could show you some things that'll make beatin' them bitches easy for you…that is, if you ain't too scared to find out."

Jazmine shrunk a little. "I don't know Riley. I don't think I should."

Riley sighed audibly. "Well, who are they at least?"

"Their names? Well, one's name is Rita Theronguard. She's pretty popular. Then she has her two friends Julie Copperhead and Samantha Childs."

Jazmine's face became drawn.

"They follow her everywhere and hang on her every word. Rita's actually pretty mean to a lot of people, and Julie and Samantha just kind of follow her. Either way I hate all of them. Oh, Riley, I just wish they'd leave me alone!" Riley could see the tears start to well in her eyes as she lamented. Oh boy. Riley never did too well with weepy females.

"Ok look. Go home and change into something yo'folks won't cry about you gettin' dirty in. Meet me at my house in an hour, ok?"

Jazmine sniffled a bit then smiled. "Ok!" She beamed before hooking her thumbs in the straps of her pink book bag and bounding away. Once she was out of sight Riley walked back out in the open. He glanced around for Butch but didn't see him. That was alright though. He'd get his in the end.

Riley pulled his sagging pants farther up on his narrow hips—a pointless gesture as that they nearly fell right back. Yeah he'd help Jazmine. They way he saw it—it'd be funny as hell to see prissy little Jazmine Dubois beat down a bunch of bitchy white girls.

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A/N: Talk about an elbow, huh? Will Jazmine be in on the coming action? Hell if I know. And I'm sure every one wants to know when Huey's involvement in all of this will increase. Don't worry; I'll make sure he gets his time. And btw, yall's reviews _actually_ have some bearing on this fic! Your comments are food for my muse and I do appreciate them. Don't blink or you'll miss my next update!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: After this, I'm gunna start combining chapters (didn't start tonight because I'm freggin' tired to keep typing). This will increase the time in between updates, but it will have two benefits. One, the chapters will be _considerably_ longer overall, and two; it will reduce the number of chapters. This way, when newcomers to the fic click the dropdown arrow, they won't be terrified by the sight of 30+ chapters. Yes ladies and gents, this WILL be a long story, so hunker yourselves in—I still have a lot of ground to cover.

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It had been exactly an hour when Riley caught sight of Jazmine bounding across the street.

"Hey, over here!" He called out to her as she was making her way up to the front door. Riley had been in front of the garage while he waited. When Jazmine came over she gave him a quick smile. She was wearing a pair of pink sweats and some white sneakers. That would do he supposed. Riley himself wore a regular t-shirt and a pair of his more fitted jeans.

"We're gunna go to the park ok?"

Jazmine nodded and began following the Freeman boy.

"Ok, so what did you wanna show me?" Jazmine asked.

Riley took a deep breath. "I'm gunna show you the 360 field of vision."

"The what?" She asked with genuine confusion. Riley let his eyes roll once before giving his explanation.

"The 360 field of vision technique looks a lot like the arm motions in the Capoeira fightin' style—only it works better. What it does for you is increases yo'reaction time fo' when someone's swingin' atchu. Here, hold yo'hands up."

Jazmine promptly put both hands high into the air.

"No, not like dat! Raise'em up like this—like you about ta'push sumthin, then bow'em out like you chokin'ah bitch." Riley held his own arms out to demonstrate.

"Ok, now I'm gunna bring one of my arms around, and yo' gunna block it wit yo' arm ok?"

"Ok!" The girl chirped eagerly.

Riley brought his arm around very slowly so Jazmine could see what he was doing. When his arm was almost to her, Jazmine grabbed his right wrist with her right hand.

Naw, not like dat. Look Jazz, you crossed over yo' left arm jus'ta grab my wrist. See, now that you tied up yo'right arm, my left hand can do anything it want, like punch you, or snatch yo' hair." Riley said while touching her side, then tugging on her available puff to make his point. "Plus wit that," he continued, "you neutralized what yo'left arm could be doin' ta' help cuz you blocked it up witcho other arm tryin' ta stop the first arm you saw comin' atchu. Let's try it again. This time don't grab anythin', but listen ta'me as I talk thew it."

Jazmine nodded as they began again the exercise.

"See how my arm is comin' up an'around? I want you to move yo'arm up until our arms make an X, ok? Dis is called a block."

Jazmine's eyes widened a bit as she started to understand.

"Now," Riley began as he had them hold their position. "This next part's easy. You see how my arm is on da'outside ah'yours?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to slowly push out wit'cho arm, then downward ok? You gunna see how my arm starts ta'down move under yours. Do it."

Following his directions, Jazmine could see what Riley was talking about. At the moment Riley told her to stop, the underside of her wrist was on the topside of his forearm.

"Now look where you at Jazz. From here you got control now. Where I was goin' ta'hit you, you stopped my arm, deflected it downward so that yo'hand can grab my wrist, and now I can't do much else wit dis arm. Ya'see?"

Jazmine giggled. "Wow this is cool! Just like a kung-fu movie!"

"Uh…not quite. But look, things jus don't stop there. I still got another arm over here that I can use. But you can do the same thing ta'my other arm as ya'did ta'this arm. See?"

Riley brought around his other arm, and in the same fashion as before, had Jazmine defended again. This was a fundamental skill in Kave Maga. The idea was to deflect an attack down the outside of your arm. It threw off enemy attacks and opened them up to a counterstrike while minimizing damage to the defender. What happened as a person trained, the person's speed in deflecting downward an attack increased exponentially to the point that the defender could even begin to anticipate the direction of an attack and block no matter from what side the attack came on.

"Alright Jazz, when doing this, there are three zones to block in, high, middle and low. You just do the same thing for each zone until you start gettin' fast. Simple, eh? We'll keep doin' it until you start gettin' faster."

It was actually incredible to see how quickly Jazmine's confidence had rose in just a few short minutes. It seemed the moment she realized she could do it, she took it incredibly seriously—which meant that Riley didn't have to do much explaining. Riley also noticed how patient he was being with her—maybe she was just being a good student.

After about an hour, Riley stopped them.

"Ya did good, ok? You got a lot faster. If you want, we can meet up tomorrow and we can practice some more. I'll show you some other stuff to so by the end of the week you can be fuckin' dem bitches up, a'ight?"

"Cool! Thanks for this Riley!" She smiled sweetly, then gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Augh!!" Riley exclaimed in disgust as he franticly began wiping his face. "Hoe whut's wrong witchu spreadin' yo'coodies an' shit??!"

Jazmine laughed aloud as she ran off back toward her house, leaving Riley to his distress.

When Riley had come into the bedroom, Huey had been waiting for him.

"Where'd you go off with Jazmine to?"

Riley was taken aback. What the hell?

"Why you wanna know?" Riley asked in an accusing manner.

"Because I don't trust you. You up ta'sumthin' Riley and I'm gunna find out."

Riley smacked his teeth loudly. "Whatevea nigga! Why you always gotta think I'm doin' sumthin' wrong?" At this point Riley was truly offended, though he didn't have to be. He could've just told his brother what was happening, but Riley knew better. The moment Huey found out that he had suggested Jazmine fight the girls who were heckling her _and_ was showing her how do it, Riley wouldn't hear the end of it. The thought reminded him that he probably should tell Jazmine to keep her mouth shut. But that wasn't the most important thing then. Right now he was only hung up over the fact that his brother would automatically think he was startin' shit—he didn't particularly care for the idea that Huey knew him as well as he did. At least up to the point of accurate suspicions.

"Cause usually there is." Huey had replied.

Riley didn't have to take this. His brother could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was _not _feelin' the vibe he was gettin' at the moment.

"Sure Huey. You right like you always is." With that Riley turned on his heel and left, not even sure what he had gone into the bedroom for in the first place. He figured he'd go to Thugnificent's to let off some steam.

"Oh shit! Look at whut the hell landed on ma'door step! Getcho skinny-ass in here!" Thugnificent beamed with an amused smile. "Frankly I cain't believe it—yo'brutha finally takin' you off lock?" He continued as he closed the door.

"He don't own me! I'm tired of him!" Riley fussed as he stood in the main corridor.

"So, you came to do some work?" Thugnifcent asked. Riley looked back to him, catching the gleam in his eye that suggested he had something planned.

"Well, not exactly—I just wanted to relax. Ya'know—I'm wound kinda tight right now. Huey was pissin' me off an' I just had'ta get out."

Thugnificent nodded. "A'ight then. G'wn downstairs. I'll be there in'a bit."

Down in the basement, Riley had been throwing a few warm-up punches while he waited for Thugnificent. When the gangsta-rapper joined him, he put up his hands as targets for Riley hit. Punch after punch met Thugnificent's bare palms with loud smacks as Riley threw them with all his force.

"So, whut it is witcha lil' man; whut got'chu so worked up?" Thugnificent asked as he continued to catch the tiny fists.

"…Couple of things." Riley replied as his punches flew.

"Wussup?" The gangsta-rapper hiked up his leg to block a kick.

"…My brother." Riley threw a few more punches as he began to sidestep.

"Uh huh?" Thugnifcent sidestepped in turn with the boy.

"…Butch Magnus too." Riley kicked again and was blocked.

"Him again? Whut he do?" Thugnifcent reversed his sidestep.

"Nuthin' that he don't normally do. I just wanna piece uh'his ass." Riley mirrored Thugnificent's change in direction.

"You gunna fight'em? He that big white boy right?" Thugnificent caught another punch.

"…Yeah." Riley threw another kick.

"Sounds like we need'ta be sparrin'." Thugnificent announced. Riley nodded.

"Come'own, 360 to a short burst—keep it clean and tight." He said outlining the exercise. Thugnificent brought his arms around quickly for Riley to block, simulating the wide and wild swings that Butch was sure to be throwing. They circled about in this manner for about thirty seconds until Riley executed his short burst. Deflecting Thugnificent's right arm with his left, Riley stepped in quickly and shoved his right fist with all his might straight into Thugnificent's gut—hoping this would be enough to stun him out of using his available arm to counter until Riley was able to make use of his own again.

"Oof!!" He wheezed as he stumbled backward, bent over at the middle for a brief second. Had this been an actual fight, Riley could have easily uppercut him, and possibly pulled off a leg sweep.

But since it wasn't he backed off.

"Dat was pretty good." Thugnifcent praised after he caught is breath. "Jus remember to keep movin'; ya'don't wan'em catchin' ya, ok? Now get on yo'footwork. If that dude slow as I think he is, you'll keep'em off balance easy. Begin."

After about two hours of the improv training session, the two returned upstairs.

"You hungry?" Thugnificent asked the somewhat winded boy.

Considering Riley hadn't really eaten at school, food was probably a good idea after his workout.

"Yeah."

"A'ight." Thugnificent replied quickly before digging around in an oversized pocket. Grabbing whatever he had been searching for, he tossed the item to Riley, who caught and examined it.

"Tic-tacs?" He inquired quizzically at open and half-empty container.

"Yeah!" Returned the gangsta-rapper, genuinely surprised by the boy's stunted reaction. "You betta be lucky; orange is ma'favorite kind an'dats the last of'em! Now g'wn outta here befo' I putcha ta'work fo'real!" Screeched Thugnificent as he pointed towards the door. Riley didn't need to be told twice and found his way out. As he crossed the street back to his home, (while eating some of the artificlaly flavored mints) he couldn't help smiling to himself. By the end of the week, there was gunna be one hellava fight at that elementary school—Huey and Grandad were gunna be _pissed_.

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A/N: Review, review, review! Your speculations help me give the story flavor! (That where this new arc came from). Place your bets now! Riley versus Butch! Jazmine versus the Three Bitch-keteers! When they are introduced, you will see that these ladies are a nasty set!! L8er! 


	12. Chapter 12

It was 7:30 a.m when Jazmine put her things away in the coat closet. All during her walk to school that morning, she couldn't keep the three girls and Riley off her mind. What she had told him yesterday was true, she never made trouble, and had never _been_ in trouble. It would be quite a shock to everybody when they learned that she had tussled with some of her classmates.

"Pisst, she's over there." Jazmine heard someone whisper. Oh God, so it begins—it was too damn early for this.

"Hiya Jazmine, how are you this morning?" Came the sarcastically false pleasantry of Jazmine's arch nemeses. Jazmine looked up to see none other than Rita Theronguard and her two cronies.

"Hello Rita." She replied simply.

"Humph, I see you couldn't manage to tame that orange beast on your head yet again this morning huh?"

Jazmine said nothing as she began to walk to her seat.

"You know you could just ask your mom to do your hair—oh wait…she's white so why would she know how to wrangle all those nappy kinks?" Rita jeered at Jazmine's turned back. "Ya know, you should just do your mom and yourself a favor and shave that knotted mess off. At least that way people can confuse you with a cancer patient and actually _try_ to be nice to you. Lord knows you ware enough pink."

That made her heart hurt. Was no one hearing this evil heifer? It was one thing to tease about her hair, but those remarks were both cruel and racist. Jazmine remained quiet and continued to her desk, ashamed that she couldn't find it in herself to defend either her mother or herself, not to mention all of those sick people she managed to insult. What was more, why did Rita Theronguard have to sit directly behind her? There was almost no escape.

It was a few minutes before the start of class and most of the kids had found their chairs. Rita, who had sat just a moment ago, leaned in to whisper in Jazmine's ear.

"Your dad is supposed to be some big shot lawyer right? I hear from my boyfriend that he's just a cunt who lets himself get walked on in the court room."

Jazmine winced. She didn't even know what a cunt was, but she knew if Rita was using it to describe her father, it couldn't have been good. Again Jazmine was silent.

Just then the bell rang and Jazmine let out a sigh of relief. With class starting, at least she didn't have to hear anymore of Rita's torturous words. But then again, just because class started, didn't mean Rita couldn't still work her mischief. Before the teacher even finished writing the day's lesson on the board, Jazmine had negotiated three small paper balls that Rita had put down the back of her shirt. They were only fifteen minutes into class and Jazmine already wanted to burst into tears and race out of the room.

It was like this almost every day. Jazmine knew damn well that there were other kids around that saw and heard everything Rita did and said to her—but no one dared to say a word…not to perfect little miss Rita Theronguard. In the eyes of all the teachers of their grade, Rita Theronguard was an exemplary student and an infallible angel. With her alabaster skin, steel gray eyes, silver tongue and a head full of long, gently curling mahogany tresses, this chick was a force to be reckoned with. She had perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect hobbies, perfect friends, a perfect boyfriend and perfect parents. Ha! If they only knew!

Her parents were one of at least three sets that pretty much ran the PTA, so even if Rita slipped up a bit on the academic side, it would simply be overlooked and she would be allowed to keep her perfect scores. Because of the power her parents had, her ego was about as big as her so-called boyfriend—Butch Magnus Milosevic. That was the other thing. There had been other girls before that had been the target of Rita's contempt who tried to do something about it. All it took was one word from Rita and those girls weren't heard from again, which was something she had neglected to tell Riley about. If she faced off with Rita Theronguard, she faced off with her two attack bitches Julie and Samantha, _and_ her boyfriend Butch. It was a nice thought to be able to fight Rita and win, but Butch would kill her. Jazmine made it up in her mind that she would go see Riley again after school for his 'training', but she also figured that she would tell him the truth about not going to fight Rita. That Butch was a bastard, and Jazmine had no intentions of being made to disappear. This wouldn't be forever--having to put up with Rita Theronguard and her bullshit. She'd much rather deal with that than have to fret over what her boyfriend Butch might do.

When lunch time came, Jazmine wasted no time collecting her school meal. Normally she would just bring her own lunch along with some additional money if she wanted to buy something from the a la carte line that the adults usually frequented. But today she had forgotten it in the kitchen—too caught up in her thoughts to think about it. Today's lunch wasn't so terrible she guessed—meatloaf and more green beans with mashed potatoes. Since students had their choice of milk, she opted for strawberry. Feeling relatively secure in her seat at the edge of the table, she prepared to eat.

To her left sat a boy, and to her front sat another girl. To her right was the aisle created by all of the tables. She separated a bit of meatloaf onto her fork and put it in her mouth. Not her mom's meatloaf sure, but it was bearable.

"Pardon me, but this seat's been taken."

Jazmine froze—fuck.

The boy to her left vacated the seat he was in without looking into the newcomers face. Jazmine's eyes were glued to her loaf. The girl who sat in front of her, along with the other boy that sat next to her also fled as the other two arrived.

Trapped.

Rita didn't even bother to sit all the way down in the seat, resolving only to put one knee in the chair as she occupied the space. Across the table, tall, lanky, platinum blonde headed Julie and skinny brunette Samantha sat down, horrible grins plastered on their smug faces.

"Jesus Jazmine—can't even _one_ part of your stupid life not have pink in it?" Rita hissed as she regarded Jazmine's strawberry milk. In that instant, the Dubois girl immediately regretted her choice of beverage.

"Hmm, meatloaf; how quaint. But I guess little poodles like you love their dog food huh?"

Jazmine swallowed. Something bad was coming, she could feel it.

"Yeah Rita, I think Pinky here left her collar at home. Maybe she figured it chafed too much after her parents walked her this morning." Samantha said with a snicker. Julie grinned evilly at the remark.

"You know what?" Rita began. "I hear little lapdogs like Miss Dubois here like their food extra moist. Your loaf is looking a bit too dry honey, let me help."

By now Jazmine's hands had found her lap underneath the table—her hands balled into tight, nervous fists. She watched with only her eyes as Rita leaned across the table and grabbed her milk carton. Rita put it in front of her and proceeded to bend back the cardboard tabs to open the milk.

"…Plus your meal looks _so_ colorless. Since I know how much you like pink…"

Jazmine only stared through the table as the stream of strawberry milk fell through the air and onto her barely touched meatloaf—the pink milk splattering onto the table and onto the front of Jazmine's blouse. Placing the now empty carton back on the tray, Rita glanced toward Julie for a moment. The girl smiled wickedly and gave a slight nod.

Reaching over the table with no level of modesty, Julie picked up the saturated strawberry flavored milk loaf and promptly smeared it into Jazmine's face—making sure to give it a bit of a twist for effect.

"Come on pup, eat up! Don't'cha like it?" The blonde taunted.

"Oh looky, the little naughty puppy made a great big mess…" Rita goaded. After that, the Witch Therongard reached into her black Tinker Bell embroidered purse and pulled out a wet nap. Tearing into the small package, she unfolded the moist towelette and laid it atop Jazmine's perfectly still head.

"Ok, girls, we're done here." She announced. Then together, the three walked off to some other part of the cafeteria.

And there Jazmine sat motionless; bits of meatloaf and milk still sliding down her face. After another second had passed, she gingerly reached up to pluck the towelette off of her head and wipe her face with it.

That was it; she had gone too damn far this time. Butch Magnus Milosevic or not, that bitch _and _her 'cunts' were going _DOWN._

Riley had been waiting for Jazmine in the same spot they had been yesterday. When Jazmine arrived, Riley immediately noticed the fire burning in her light green eyes.

"Uh, is there sumthin' I should be knowin' about?" The boy inquired.

"Riley—she poured milk in my meatloaf and had that cunt attack bitch of hers smash it in my face."

Riley was struck speechless. Where the hell did little-goodie-two-shoes Jazmine Dubois learn language like that? What was more, where did all this controlled fierceness come from?

"She did _what_?" This was a real surprise for Riley. He knew that women could get pretty catty with each other—but why Jazmine? Though Jazmine was a complete naïve, he knew she didn't deserve that level of disrespect—not even from him.

"Oh see, it's on now." Riley seethed as he punched a fist into his hand. Jazmine was so upset by now that she was shaking—tears were spilling down the sides of her round face. These weren't the regular loud, obnoxious and overly dramatic whales that he was used to seeing from her—these were tears of hurt, anger, and bitterness. He knew those tears well. Riley let his face soften a bit.

"Don't worry Jazz, I got'yo back. I think I'm gunna show you a bit more than I was gunna cuz that bitch gotta really pay now. But listen, I cain't teach you nuthin' if you all mad an' shakin'. You gotta calm down some."

"RILEY, BUTCH IS HER BOYFRIEND!" Jazmine suddenly blurted as she burst into very real tears. 'Come again?' he thought to himself. Did he just hear her say _Butch Magnus Milosevic_ was that bitch's boyfriend?

"I-I wasn't gunna fight h-her Riley--" She sobbed "B-but when she said I should shave my head and be like a cancer patient, I WANTED TO RIP HER EYES OUT!!" By now Jazmine was a hysterical mess. If she didn't quiet down soon, she'd draw attention.

"Hey, hey!" Riley tired to sooth as the girl continued to bawl. Feeling the pressure to act, he did the only thing he could think of at the moment, put his arms around her and pull her near. If nothing else, it would muffle her loud, angry sobs.

While Jazmine continued to cry out her misery, Riley couldn't help but feel uncomfortable--once again weepy females were not his forte. This was different though, something about it seemed personal now; not only because she was his neighbor and they hung out sometimes, but because her tormentor's 'boyfriend' was the one he had a vendetta against. Actually, this couldn't have worked out better. By Jazmine beating the fuck outta this Rita bitch, Butch Magnus would be almost an easy target for Riley. After coming to this conclusion, he pushed back on Jazmine's shoulders.

"Hey, you cut that shit out now. You g'wn make that bitch pay for whut she did ta'you ok? I'm'll make sure'uh it."

Jazmine looked up at Riley with watery eyes and nodded. Whatever it took, she'd do it. Anything to see that evil bitch and her friends hurt. Anything. Calming herself, she wiped away what tears were felt. She would be like a sponge and absorb everything Riley was telling her. Every bit of it was valuable information, regardless if she could master it or not.

"Ok Riley, show me what else is gunna work."

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A/N: Ok yall, the next chapter is gunna be the jump off. Get ready! 


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Ha! I'm back! Sorry it's been over two weeks since I last posted, but you guys have got to understand that after I finished writing (after my last post) I looked down and saw I had nine pages of crap. So I had to fix it. Now, what I've done, which was something I didn't want to do, was break the scene up into two chapters. It was so long, I wanted people to have the option of leaving it for a second if they had to pee or something. Hope ya'll ain't too mad at my delay. Blood and roughness.

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Earlier that morning… 

"Jazmine! Breakfast is ready!" Mrs. Dubois called from downstairs. Jazmine had been slower with her day's preparation than usual. Her sleep the night before had been odd…as if she had been resting with stale adrenaline in her blood. When she awoke, her body felt both energized and utterly exhausted.

Jazmine, being the girly-girl she was, would normally wear sugar pinks, frosted purples and other soft pastels. Not today. She had in the back of her closet something that a cousin on her mom's side had gotten for her for Christmas last year, never worn because of the color. It was a simple outfit that consisted of a turtle neck in midnight blue, and a pair of dark blue-jeans. It was a nice set, but the colors were so cold. It made her uneasy to look at it…besides, it was something that Huey would wear…

Which made it perfect.

Yet another unworn garment in her closet was a hoodless pink pullover. It wasn't like her others, in that this one was just a bit too big for her, and the pink seemed off. It was like a dark salmon—ugly in a way—it didn't seem like real pink to Jazmine, which was the reason why she wouldn't wear it despite its size. However, couldn't think of a more ideal time then today to break it in. Putting on a pair of black low-heel boots to keep the mood consistent, it was time for her to acknowledge her mother. Just before leaving her pink slathered room, she took one last moment at her small vanity. The night before, Jazmine had asked her mother for one of her Purell towelettes. Giving her several, Jazmine had placed them on her vanity. Taking one now, she placed the individually wrapped nap into her left pocket. She had no real use for it, except for what it would be symbolizing for her…

Upon hearing the small footfalls of her daughter rounding the corner, Sara exclaimed jovially.

"Ok, sweetie! I made your favorite—pan…cakes…" Both Sara Dubois' smile and voice trailed when she saw her child, face as solemn as the uncharacteristic outfit that she wore.

"Jazzy, is everything ok? You look kind of…" She didn't know how to word it without seemingly demeaning her own child. Instead, she opted for a complement and a question.

"You look nice dear, but what made you decide to wear that? I thought you didn't like them?"

"No, its ok." Jazmine offered demurely. "I just wanted to be a little different today…that's all. Plus it's not nice not to make use of someone's gift." The girl added with a downbeat shrug as she walked to the table and sat. Her mother looked at her for a moment, and gave a brief and fettered smile before turning to get Jazmine's plate. Jazmine knew her mother figured something was up. Maybe it was that whole mother-child thing…

Sara kissed her daughter on her way out. On the steps, Jazmine turned back and said 'see you later', and gave a small wave. As she watched her child walk out of sight, Sara couldn't help but feel a little tense. Jazmine never said 'see you later' when going to school. She'd have a talk with her later; at that moment, something truly felt amiss and it made her worry.

"Have a good day at school baby…" She murmured, returning inside.

Jazmine's class…

Much of the morning had passed without incident. Rita had made her usual rounds about the classroom spreading fear and humiliation earlier and was now simply absorbed in herself while her two flunkies basked in her glow.

She had thought she had forgotten.

Jazmine Dubois had to have one of the most innocent and forgiving souls on the planet. For months she had dealt with Rita's hateful antics and never said anything of it. Today though would be different. Half past ten was fast approaching and all the students assigned P.E. that block would fill the halls—they would all be unsuspecting. When Jazmine had arrived that morning, she made sure to take stock of the hallway their fight would be taking place in.

It was the science wing.

On the walls of the hall were student made pictures of plants, cells, and other wildlife. It was a well lit corridor, despite the fact that there were no windows. From the floor to about halfway up either side of the hall, there was a raised red brick finish that extended two or so inches out. Every now and again, the school janitors had the esteemed pleasure of collecting cups, cartons, snot-rags and chewed gum off of the ledge the brick finish created. The floors were buffed and polished granite and the rest of the walls up to the tiled ceiling were painted a lively yellow. There was a large wooden classroom door every twenty feet that were separated out by the raised brick. The doors were done in typical elementary school fashion, with low knobs and long, thin hatch-paned windows—plastered on jovially with the artistic works of the resident students. On either end of the hall were exit doors, and water fountains. What was new today was the large collection of metal folding chairs that had been stacked out from the wall; in rows of four, they were about eight chairs deep. It was something Jazmine was sure the principle (who was a self professed neat-freak and would not have had them there in the first place) probably was unaware of. In addition to this, the hall was filled with the odor of drying paint. The supply locker for the science wing had apparently been painted at some point in royal blue—it was still quartered off by caution tape and wet paint signs.

There couldn't have been a more perfect battleground.

Riley looked up at the wall clock in his classroom—half passed ten. In another fifteen minutes or so, Jazmine would be launching her personal war on Rita Theronguard. As soon as Butch caught wind of it, he would undoubtedly come seeking revenge. And that was where _he_ would come in. Butch would be so preoccupied with trying to pummel Jazmine (who was completely without stealth and ignorant to the art of not getting caught) Riley would make his move. Did it sound like he was baiting Butch with Jazmine? Of course. Was it dirty of him to use Jazmine in this fashion? Absolutely. But Riley had always considered himself a bit of an opportunist in this respect—but he wasn't without scruples. He'd make sure Butch didn't get to Jazmine—if only to use her again. After all, she _did_ provide him with this window.

10:28, and finally the teacher was having the students prepare for P.E. Jazmine narrowed her eyes. She could feel her pulse quicken with anticipation.

Go time.

10:30. Riley was making greater haste to the science hall than the others—he mustn't be late.

10:32, they were nearing the science hall. While the students could have gone out of the first exit door they came to, they were instructed to leave out the exit door at the other end by the stack of chairs. In the swell of her classmates, Jazmine eyed fiercely the mound of mahogany curls that bobbed only a few feet ahead of her. This was it, no turning back now.

10:33, Riley was on the science hall—no signs of commotion yet, he wasn't too late.

10:34, the enemy was engaged.

Rita had been cackling about something to Julie and Samantha when she felt the two taps on her left shoulder. Turing to the one who would dare defile _her_ dainty shoulder, she was met not with a person, but a collection of fisted fingers flying in even formation at her face.

"AHHH!" She shrieked as her hands jumped up to her assaulted nose. She had dipped down to one side as shouts began to echo around her. Julie's jaw slacked for a bit right before the same fist that struck Rita found a place on the side of her mouth, splitting her glossed bottom lip. Samantha, who had recovered from her own initial shock, moved to grab the girl who had just decked both her friends. Her left arm was only in mid arc when it was immediately deflected and two hands were angrily shoving her backwards until she hit the wall. Against it, she quickly grabbed the wrists of her assailant. Looking up, she locked eyes with the most unlikely of opponents—Jazmine Dubois.

Seeing the brunette's eyes go wide, Jazmine swung the girl out to the left and into several children who had still stupidly been standing there. Jazmine and Samantha continued flinging each other about like this for a few seconds until Jazmine's left shoulder crashed into something hard. Amidst their struggle, Jazmine only barely noticed that they were no longer in the hall, but rather one of the classrooms, and on the floor for that matter. Apparently the door she hit had not been closed all the way and now they were scrapping inside of someone's class. Jazmine had landed on top of Samantha, who had managed to put a foot on Jazmine's stomach to push her off. Jazmine, who was unprepared, flew off and smashed into the side of the doorjamb. On her feet quickly, she was able to block just in time a kick flying at her head. In the next moment, her right arm had been grabbed and she was being tossed over Samantha's shoulder back onto the floor. The shock of colliding with the hard tile sent waves of pain shooting through Jazmine's center. As Samantha was preparing to spit-kick the floored girl, Jazmine curled over and kicked Samantha in the face instead.

"Aurgha!!!!!"

Rolling off the floor, Jazmine lunged at the brunette. Sensing this, Samantha sidestepped the mulatto girl, pushing her into a bookshelf, and leapt onto one of the occupied desks. By now the resident teacher had already used the classroom phone to call for aid.

Back in the hall, Riley had known Jazmine started it when the crowd formed. Pushing passed the herd of dumbstruck children, he began calling out Jazmine's name.

"You know Jazmine??" An incredulous and accusing voice rang out. Riley's head snapped to the left and was confronted by the lanky (and already injured) Julie.

"Bitch, who is you?" He inquired with a sneer, not because he didn't know who the girl was, but rather because she thought she could step to him like that. Rather than saying more, she simply returned with a fist. Riley dodged deftly, knowing that this was supposed to be Jazmine's fight—although, he wasn't against hitting a bitch who deserved it. Choosing not to engage the white girl, he simply palmed her face and pushed her down…then came something that chilled Riley's blood.

"FIGHT!!"

The sound came as a battle cry. Riley, and several of the others who were around him looked back to see a truly terrifying sight…it was Butch Magnus Milosevic, stampeding down the science wing--man-tities and fat undulating wildly under his quadruple extra large shirt, plowing through any kid unfortunate enough to be in his way.

Holy shit! He didn't think that Milosevic would even know what the hell was going on, let alone be in the thick of it.

"Butch!" Riley heard a female voice squeak. Rita, who had seen him push Julie down, was preparing to give the command to attack. She raised an arm and pointed at Riley.

"Butch, get that black kid! Fuck'em up!!"

Whirling from her back to Butch, Riley was almost at a complete loss. With shrieking children all around him, and both exit doors completely inaccessible, he had nowhere to go, and little room to act in. Damn, he was really missing his balisong now. It wasn't long before Butch was towering over him.

"Hey, aren't you that little punk from Lethal Interjection? I thought you learned your lesson from the last ass-beating, but if Rita wants you busted up—I'll just hafta oblige!"

Butch then raised a meaty fist into the air and rocketed it down with every intention of busting open Riley's head—but they boy ducked away. It wasn't long before a circle of space had opened up around them, with Julie scampering out of the way. Was it Riley, or did Butch seem faster somehow? If nothing else, he was defiantly bigger. Despite the fact that Riley had dodged the first blow, he was almost too slow in blocking the reversal of Butch's swing. Somehow guarding against the backhanded fist, the force of it sent Riley flying into the wall on his left with another one of Butch's fists in close pursuit.

He _was_ faster, and stronger…

Jazmine had again began her advance, albeit foolishly because Samantha had the higher ground. Just when she was in arm's reach, Samantha squatted down for a leg sweep and clocked Jazmine right across the face with one of her mary-janes causing the orange-haired girl to twirl about once before collapsing. Knocked once again to her knees, Jazmine's blood began to boil. 'Come on Jazzy, shake it off', she told herself. Back on her feet, she looked up to see that Samantha had bounded to one of the desks in the back of the room. Behind her sat a low-rising book shelf/cubbie-hole. On top of it sat a large fifty-two gallon fish tank filled with various animals.

"You want some more Jazmine?!! Come and get it!" The brunette shouted, blood leaking down the side of her face where the hard heel of Jazmine's shoe had cut into her cheek.

Oh yes, she would come.

Winding through the desks, she rounded the girl until she was between her and the fish tank. Close to her, Samantha saw this as another opportunity to kick the mulatto. As she went to do so, Jazmine did something unexpected. With Samantha's left foot off the desk, Jazmine snatched a nearby pencil with her left hand and rammed it in between the straps of Samantha's right shoed foot, making it a point to snap the wooden pencil off at the middle.

"AHGGGHHH!!!!" The scream that came out of that girl's lungs was enough to make the skin of your eardrums ripple. Samantha lurched forward on the desk in an effort to extract the pencil that had been rammed to her foot. Seeing this opening, Jazmine reached under the bent over girl, grabbed the front of her shirt and her belt for extra support and with all her might flung the girl over her head and plunged her head first directly into the giant fish tank. Thoroughly satisfied with this turn of events, Jazmine b-lined it for the door.

Now precariously situated with her feet in the air and her head in the tank, Samantha could only shut her eyes and cover her face as best she could in anticipation as her weight caused both she and the tank to tip off the side of the shelf. They met the floor with a terrible crash as the shattered glass of the tank sliced into her arms—blood now mingling with the water and fish on the floor

"OH MY GOD!!!" Was the only thing the horrified teacher could manage as she raced over to the badly injured child.

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A/N: Con'd chapter 14 


	14. Chapter 14

Outside, there still was a great deal of confusion. After Jazmine exited the classroom, the students in it began pouring out into the hallway. Wasting no time, Jazmine honed in on her next target—Julie Copperhead.

Julie was hugged up on Rita, trying to make sure if Rita's beautiful face wasn't marred too badly. Jazmine herself had tasted blood in her mouth the moment Samantha had kicked her in the face—she wasn't sure how bruised up she was, but Jazmine knew at the beginning of this she wouldn't be damage free. But she didn't care. This was war, and whatever injury that was sustained would be chalked up to a battle scar and would be worn with honor.

Cutting through the crowd like a scalpel on flesh, she was before Julie in seconds, completely oblivious to the battle between Riley and Butch. Grabbing a handful of Julie's platinum blonde locks, she threw her off kilter into the gaggle-fuck of confused bystanders, turned to face Rita, and decked her again. Jazmine would deal with her in a second. Reoriented, Julie faced Jazmine.

"Alright you little cunt, you wanna go? Let's, go!"

True to her art of Karate, Julie began throwing very controlled punches at Jazmine, who in turn was deflecting them down and away in just the same manner she had been training in. Jazmine could see the mounting frustration in Julie's light blue eyes as she struggled to understand why this pushover of a mutt was blocking all of her attacks. With the blonde now more focused on why she wasn't making contact, Jazmine turned the tide with the short burst attack that Riley had showed her just the day before. Julie stumbled back, momentarily stunned and unaware of Jazmine's next advance. Grabbing again two fistfuls of her hair, she roughly threw the girl hard to the left--her forehead crashing with a loud clang into the freshly painted supply cabinet in the hall, denting it slightly. Suddenly from behind, Jazmine was caught up in a strong grip—it was Rita grappling her with arms now locked around Jazmine's biceps and chest. Not one for this at the moment, Jazmine promptly stomped one of the girl's feet, electing a yelp. She elbowed her in the gut twice, causing Rita to lose her grip. With that, Jazmine broke her left arm free, then brought her elbow up and back into the side of Rita's head, causing the trick to hit the floor.

She _said_ she'd fucking deal with her in a second.

Moving back over to the still kneeling blonde (who now had blue paint on her forehead and hands), Jazmine for the third time grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and began pounding the silly bitch's head into the cabinet.

THAT was for the meatloaf.

Thrice she did this before jerking her towards the brick finish and smashing her maw into it. With Julie still bent over, Jazmine leaned her elbow and body heavily into the blonde's shoulder blade for weight and pain. Content with this, she began to trot quickly, dragging the side Julie's face along the rough brick like a piece of chalk, leaving behind a faint trail skin and blood specks. Jazmine felt yet another surge of adrenaline at hearing Julie's tortured screams as the brick sandpapered bits of her flesh away. Finally letting go, leaving the girl to collapse to the buffed granite with painful slap, it was time now to deal with Rita.

As Julie began to stand--leaning on the brick for support--the poor girl was in no position to dodge or even block as a random fist from Butch (intended for Riley) missed its mark and found its way into her unprotected side. The blow, smashing her _back_ into the brick, caused Julie's eyes to roll up in her head. She fell to the floor again and lay nearly motionless from shock. Butch of course didn't even notice. He was locked on Riley at the moment, and crushing his bones was the only thing on his mind.

Coming from the other end of the hall, several adults were pushing through the droves of hapless children to break up the fight. The first one to get near was a tall, yet gangly man who shouted for Butch to stop. The large boy eye the man for a second, then hoisted him overhead and effectively threw him at the other teachers, halting all of their advances. Riley's eyes grew wide. Holy crap, this dude was like Andre the fucking Giant! Suddenly Butch grabbed an unsuspecting student and held him up. It was that kid from earlier that week, Cory!

"Ay nigga! That boy ain't do shit ta'you! Put'em down!" Riley demanded. He never indented for innocent bystanders to get caught up in _this_ drama.

"Ahhhh!! Help!" The pitiable white boy squealed.

"PUT'EM DOWN!!" Riley barked again.

"You want'em back? Here!"

With that, Butch unceremoniously tossed Cory onto Riley, causing him to fall back under the weight.

"GET OFF!" Riley yelled as the boy continued to lay on him, but by then, Butch had grabbed a hold of one of Riley's ankles. Snatching him up from underneath Cory, Butch effortlessly sent him sailing over several heads and then hard onto the floor. Riley gritted his teeth and squeezed shut his eyes as the contact with the granite left him stinging. Time was wasting though as he could hear Butch's foot steps thundering closer. Fighting through the pain, Riley was back on his feet. He turned back quickly to see yet another of Butch's fists screaming toward him. Blocked in on both sides by other students, Riley steeled himself for the direct hit that would probably break his guard. Keeping his eyes glued on the fist, Riley barely saw as the P.E. coach himself came from behind the behemoth and put him in a head lock. Tall and stocky, it seemed that he had a hold of Butch, giving Riley a chance to slip away. He had to find Jazmine.

Just as Riley was squeezing by the struggling pair, Butch backed up quickly into the wall, slamming the coach into it. A loud 'oof' could be heard just as Butch slammed him into the opposite wall. Now free of the man who slid off his back and onto the floor, Milosevic knelt down gave the Phys-ed teacher in alternating succession, two heavy lefts and two heavy rights—knocking the adult unconscious. At that moment, yet another teacher approached the kneeling Milosevic, and was met with a viscous uppercut that threw him back onto a cluster terrified students.

Jazmine's eyes darted around the nameless faces of the children looking for her prey. Could she have lost her? Impossible—not in this mad house. Suddenly another cry rang out.

"DUBOIS!!"

Jazmine raised her eyes. Not but a yard away from the other, their gazes locked in a whirl of fury so intense, the very air around them seemed to crackle with the heat of their enmity.

"Theronguard…" Jazmine murmured, the surname slipping free from her barely parted lips.

It was time, and was as if Moses himself had cleared a path through the students for both Rita and Jazmine. Within seconds the two were racing toward one another. Jazmine prepared her hand for a punch that she would be aiming at Rita's left cheek. As the distance closed, the course was perfect…At least it was up until Rita dropped down and slid like she was stealing home. Taken by surprise, Jazmine couldn't even gasp as Rita's foot tangled in hers and had Jazmine crashing face first into the floor. In the blink of an eye, Rita had snatched the back of Jazmine's pullover and yanked her up and back. Still reeling from her granite kiss, Jazmine didn't defend as Rita punched her in the side of the face. Everything blurred for a moment just as Jazmine felt a single hand wrap around her throat. With incredible strength, Rita choke-slammed Jazmine into the wall then rammed another fist into her gut causing her to bow full forward. She palmed her forehead and slammed the back of Jazmine's head the full ninety degrees into the brick, then backhanded her to keep the mulatto off balance.

Jazmine blacked for an instant as her knees buckled. For the love of God, she was having her ass handed to her! Rita grabbed the front of Jazmine's pullover and pulled her back up and to her face. Jazmine's head lolled from side to side

"Is this what you wanted Dubois?? Huh? Answer me _GODDAMNIT_!!"

And answered she was, with a fervent tackle from the side.

Out of her grip, Jazmine lumped to the floor. Nauseous and breathing heavily, she could barely distinguish Riley's shouts over the panic of random students. She drug her head in the direction she thought it was coming from.

"Jazmine, JAZMINE!! JAZMINE GET UP!!!!"

Rita's eyes became saucers as she realized what had happened. It was that black kid who not only pushed Julie, but had the _gall_ to be trying to handle _her_! Something inside her snapped and felt herself go ape-shit.

"GET OFF ME YOU FUCKING NIGGER!!!!! HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME?? GET OFFFFFF!!!!!!!" Rita bellowed with an animalistic rage unlike anything Riley had _ever_ heard before. It was worse than Butch--worse than Luna…worse than _Stinkmeaner. _This bitch had turned into a motherfucking psycho!

Rita howled madly as she thrashed with all her might in Riley's grip—but to no avail. Despite her nearly inhuman convulsions, Riley managed to drag the enraged girl to her feet and force her into a half-nelson. No matter what, she wasn't getting outta this one.

'Come on Jazz, dis'yo chance…get up and finish dis nutty bitch.' Riley pleaded in his mind. Who the hell knew when Jazmine would ever have this opportunity again? Don't blow it was all he could ask.

In Jazmine's mind, reality began to echo. He had Rita wide open for her. Here it was. Here! She couldn't fail now—not Riley, not herself—not for any of the countless people this witch had tormented. Drop her Jazz. Drop her. Rising up slowly she took a step forward, balling her tiny fists as she did. Her pulse raced, her mind became a steel trap—the end was upon them. Jazmine took a deep breathe, then let out a screech that easily rivaled Rita's.

Four was how many fists she plunged into Rita's hardened belly. Four more was how many fists she landed on either side of her rib cage. One to the left of her jaw, and one to the right. Two more…again to the left and right to her jaw, blood now flying from Rita's mouth as her head ricocheted between Jazmine's white-knuckled fists. Riley took several steps back from Jazmine, dragging Rita with him. Turning her loose, he put a boot in the middle of Rita's back and pushed her toward the mulatto. Jazmine locked onto the girl who was staggering toward her.

It was time for the coup de grâce. When Rita was no more than an arm's length away, Jazmine raised her dark blue-jean clad leg and (with as much force as she could) kneed Rita in the bridge of her nose. The force of it, combined with Rita' forward motion, shot Rita's head in a perfect rapid arc back to the granite with a sickening crack. On the floor, Rita's face was frozen in one of agony. Her expression suggested she wanted to scream, yet she was silent. Her hands hovered around her skull for a second before sound finally matched her expression--and Lord--it was _horrible_. Blood streamed down in miniature rivers from her nose and the sides of her mouth, her face was fully covered in crimson.

And it should've scared Jazmine—she had always been squeamish about blood. But to see beautiful, angelic Rita's face covered with her own blood—gave Jazmine a morbid satisfaction that nearly made her stomach turn…_nearly_. Jazmine's heart at that moment knew no mercy. Kneeling down beside the bloodied girl, Jazmine pulled from her pocket the small white square she had been hiding there. She had know before then that the little square would somehow become symbolic—and now it was finally clear…it would be _victory_. Tearing the small square open, she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger and flagged to full size the small soapy cloth. Clutching Rita by the throat, she gave a bit of a squeeze until her mouth opened just a bit…

Taking the wet nap, she none-to-gently wiped some of the blood off Rita.

"_Come on pup, eat up_…" Jazmine snarled. Lifting the towelette into the air, with her index and middle finger, stuffed the bloody nap into Rita's open and busted mouth.

Riley couldn't add to it. Never in his life did he ever think he would see Jazmine do something quite so vengeful—and he was damn proud! However this happy moment would be short lived. While he was watching Jazz go Ali on Rita, he was unaware of the giant who managed to sneak up on him. Finally landing a blow across Riley's face, Butch clamped down on his right arm and snatched him backward and away. Riley was now of little interest to Butch, as he had just caught sight of the bloody Rita with Jazmine standing stoically over her.

And Jazmine knew that this would be coming. So this is how those girls disappeared eh? Yeah, Butch probably beat them to death then ate the bodies…that's how this was going to end for Jazmine. But she didn't care. She had gotten her revenge—Rita was now bloody and gagging on the soapy antiseptic cloth at her feet, and her other little friends had been torn down by _Jazmine's_ hands. Justice had been served, and now, it was about to be served again to her. Hopefully it would be quick, and judging by how Riley just got handled, it would be.

Jazmine watched as Butch's face twisted into one of rage as he began to raise his hand to her. But she wasn't afraid. There was no need to fear now, there was no point. She couldn't even say that she had any regrets. The only thing now was that she wished she had said good-bye to her mother rather than see you later…Jazmine didn't like to lie. She watched as the mighty fist of Rita's boyfriend came at full speed—but for her, it was pure slow motion. Closing her eyes, she waited for the end.

SMACK.

The sound echoed through the hall, and everything became quiet. With teeth bared, Butch raised blonde eyebrows as he looked down the length of his arm. At the end of his fist, was an open hand—and next to that open hand, two brown eyes narrowed in marked disapproval.

Huey Freeman had finally joined the fray.

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A/N: Holy Shit! It Huey!! Yaaaayyy!!! Stay tuned for the conclusion! I'll try not to take so long! 


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Ah, where to begin? I suppose an apology is in order. I'm sorry. But in my defense though, I have damn good reason for my absence. Lets just say that my hiatus, as it were, was brought on by the need for lawyers and the loss of a large sum of money that numbers somewhere in the high tens of thousands (sigh). Needless to say, I had to shine my light through the inky blackness so that my muse could find her way back to the home she had wondered so far from. Anyways…let's get on with it.

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"The fuck?" The giant boy said more to himself than aloud. How could this shrimpy little black kid stop one of _his _mega punches?

Huey had not taken his eyes off his opponent.

"Jazmine, get outta here."

By now the hall had cleared only a little, but not enough for a great deal of movement. Jazmine looked up and saw the trademark fro just ahead of her. Huey? He had stopped Butch?

"…Huey--"

"Jazmine _NOW_!"

There was no room for discussion. His words had a finality to them that was beyond the realm of contest—and it was that tone in his voice that had unglued the mulatto's feet from the floor. This movement didn't escape Butch.

"Like FUCK you're getting away!" he bellowed. For his size he was swift. He hadn't even finished his declaration before he was attempting to muscle Huey out of his path.

"I don't know what the hell you're problem is, but you're not gunna lay ah'hand on her." Huey announced as he pushed back on the hand that was trying to move him. This seemed to enrage the bully even more. With another of his large fists, he took a mighty swing at the newcomer, only to have it gracefully dodged as Huey bowed backward allowing the fat left fist to wiz over his head. There were too many other people around here that could be easily hurt by this guy—whatever was happening needed to be ended quickly.

When the giant recovered from his missed swing, he thundered around is right fist, which was stopped by Huey's open palm. Bringing around his left, Huey palm-canceled that attack as well. Was this cat gunna learn or what? There was a brief hesitation on Butch's part, and Huey saw an opening. With his left foot, he stepped high and kicked Butch on the inside of his right knee, causing the fat-ass to cry out and slump down onto his other knee. With him now down to his level, Huey let fly a powerful front kick with is left leg. Huey successfully connected with Butch's left hand, which had caught his ankle. Momentarily befuddled at the fact that _his_ kick was stopped by someone who appeared to be a blubber-bound idiot, Huey was unprepared for the additional hand that joined the other on his leg and snatched him up into an arc over Butch's head, and hard to the floor behind him.

Huey jerked his arms up to absorb the resulting shock of the granite floor; displeased by this turn, he waited for the ogre to release his leg…which didn't actually happen. Like some slapstick cartoon, Butch reversed the same barbaric arc he sent Huey in before, repeating again the same stinging clap of bare skin on the hard smooth surface—if this continued, Huey's days could very well be numbered. Just as this thought had crossed his mind, Butch's grip shifted just a bit, allowing Huey enough time to see that his captor was still on one knee. As he began to lift Huey for another slam, Huey's free leg came close enough to Butch's face for him to kick him dead in it. There was a loud pain filled grunt, and Huey fell back to the floor, finally out of the Caucasian's vice-like grip. Scrambling to his feet, Huey managed to get passed his angry aggressor—he needed to find Riley and get him out of there.

Butch had since thrown his hands over his face—that had fucking hurt. After about a second did he drop his hands to reacquire his target, blood from his now busted lip panting his left palm and the underside of his labrum. Like an injured bull seeing red, Butch flew into something just shy of a crazy-man rage. Letting out a guttural howl borne from the reality that he was bleeding his own blood, Milosevic sliced around his wildly searching gaze for the one who managed to break his skin—finding him only a few steps away from where he stood.

"Get back here you fucker, you can't get away!" Milosevic screeched in pre-adolescent baritone. Normally Huey wouldn't have bothered to acknowledge this exceedingly worthless command, but the sudden, especially shrill terror-filled scream of a young child, beckoned a look over his shoulder. Huey couldn't keep his eyes from going wide as he saw Milosevic hoist over his head, like some sort of toy, a particularly small 3rd grade girl he had snatched from the crowd. A gnarled and bloody grin spread across his pasty, freckled face as he chirped his cruel taunt. "Catch, motherfucker!"

Now, granted that Huey was young, it was a given that he had not physically seen very much in his decade long life—but he had read enough periodicals, memoirs, and heard enough stories to know that people like Butch Magus Milosevic existed—but to see _this_ shit in a lily-white suburban _elementary school_? It was fucking unreal.

As truly shocked as Huey was, he had no time to loose himself in thought. He had never entertained the idea of being a hero, or seen himself as championing anyone—but an innocent life was clearly at risk and it was against Huey's good conscious to allow someone as helpless as that come to harm when he could do something about it. Watching the terrified little girl fly though the air, Huey open wide his arms to both catch the girl and cushion her impact. In the instant that the child had firmly molded to Huey's torso, did he look over her golden-spun hair to see Milosevic charging at the both of them full force. Until that moment, Huey never understood the concept of 'slow motion'—that colorfully abstract term people would sometime use when they spoke of being in life-threatening situations or other traumatic events that would otherwise occur in mere half seconds.

Everything around him became muted—all the color faded from walls, the floor, the faces—the only thing he could see were the bright green eyes of the heavy-draught barreling toward him, and the only thing he could feel were the tiny fingernails of the girl digging into his skin through his shirt as she clung to him in fear. Unlike his brother, Huey was never one to dawdle in a fight; hesitation most often was met with injury or death—especially in situations like this. But then again, he never had to actually protect one that could not hold their own.

No—no fancy moves, no quick feet, no brilliant maneuver was at Huey's disposal—just the small girl and his lack of options. As the milliseconds slowly ticked by, Huey noted through his peripheral vision that there was nowhere for him to dodge to or even toss the girl without either one of them being somehow injured by the eminent onslaught that was Butch Magnus. Huey was now out of time. Doing the only thing that came to him at thought's highest speed—did he whirl about and drop to his knees, covering the girl in good effect. So small was the girl that she well fit in the narrow lee that Huey's crouching form provided.

No sooner had Huey steeled himself for the blow, did it fall with all the force to be expected from such a large, angry sociopath. He felt his muscles ripple and mercilessly constrict as the knuckles bruised the tissue to the ribs. The wash of oddly smothering pain galloped up Huey's right side and made his right ear feel as if it were draining in a small invisible river out of the canal, its precious orientating colloquial fluid. As the boy reeled from the blow, the next gunshot of a fist impacted just a little higher on the opposite side of his back sending an equally crippling pain across the span of his shoulder width, robbing him of already arrested breath. Butch's hand quickly filled with a fist full of Huey's wiry fro as he snatch upward, lifting up his tucked head and opening him for a blow to its lower underside in the space behind the left ear and ahead the nape of the neck. The force and trajectory of the punch plowed the area of the top corner of the right eye socket into the granite next to the little girl's head, splitting open his brow there.

All the while Butch stood there above them both—with that same bloody mouth pinned back in that sick, vengeful grin. Towering above all the children in the hall, Butch lifted a large, worn, orange-stained white sneaker (that in some distant past was once new) and pressed it in the center of Huey's back.

Somehow that horrible grin got wider.

Desperately low on air and weak from strong body blows he had sustained, Huey could just barely recognize that psycho's intent. Still crabbed over the child's small frame, Huey used what was left of his quickly waning strength to tense himself for what he knew was coming. In one deft move, the easily 185 pound Milosevic stepped up on Huey's slender back, letting his other foot hang in the air just off to the side.

One good bounce—that's all it would take—and Huey, along with the slight child beneath him, would be crushed under Butch's weight.

Breathing for him was now impossible. Every vein in his face and neck ballooned under the strain of effort; the split on his right brow let blood freely down the side of his face and neck, causing the collar of his dark blue cotton tee to become darker still as the dry fabric soaked the crimson fluid away. Huey's eyes, now bloodshot, looked down on the girl below—her own eyes screwed shut with fear. Perhaps it was good that she was not looking—he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to see what surly would have been in her field of vision.

As each asphyxiated moment choked by—bringing Huey that much closer to emanate muscle failure—he couldn't help but think of Riley. Of _all_ things that could be going through his head at that exact moment—it was his brother. It was no one thought in particular. It was just his brother, almost as if it were like a…a feeling—some sort of curious sensation. Huey supposed then that he would not be speaking to him later…and for some odd reason, it seemed to him at that point only mildly regretful—like how one would feel after they accidentally killed a lightning-bug or a pretty butterfly. So this was the edge of delrium.

The edges of his vision were becoming gray and blurred…it wouldn't be long now. Huey could feel that tell-tail weight shift which signified that Butch would be following through with that life ending bounce that Huey had so grimly predicted. And so it was—through that terrible expression Butch wore upon his face—did as small shine of self-actualization show through…the bastard knew exactly what he was doing…

But just then something peculiar caught Butch's eye. Twitching up only his cucumber irises, he could only make out, coming over the crowd, something thin and dark before it fully consumed the scope of his sight. The feeling that came to him next could only be described as his entire face spider-webbing like a windshield with a bat through it. From all those thousands of interconnected cracks, fiery-cold liquid seeped through—pooling around his upper and lower gum-lines, unscrewing the teeth from his jaw. While this was happening, a sound—like an electric whistle sounding quietly from some far off place, rang lowly in his ears as his eyes recognized only a soft white haze around him. In the next moment—he knew he was on his back—it took a second longer, however, for the pain in his body to confirm that he had indeed fallen.

During all of this, Riley had pushed his way down the hall enough to reach the rows of stacked brown coated metal folding chairs that had been there since time the day before. When he saw Butch ascend to a height well above the rest of the children, did Riley throw with bizarre precision, the heavy metal chair at Butch's face. It had spun rapidly on its lateral axis, landing with a loud clang typical of a metal folding chair, in the dead center of Milosevic's head. Even from Riley's distance, could he see the blood drain from the behemoth's nose as he tipped back like some felled oak to the floor below.

Forcing his way back through the cattle-like school children, he came upon his brother who he had not seen collapse to one side, balled up next to the small (and now sobbing) 3rd grader. Riley felt his blood run cold when he saw all of Huey's on the side of his face.

"…Huey…"

The name came as a faint and far away whisper as Riley fell to his knees beside his battered kin—carefully rolling Huey's head into his lap. His breaths were deep, yet had a shallow sound to them. His brows were gently furrowed and he did not appear unconscious.

"Huey?" Riley asked again, lowly, tears blurring his vision so much that it seemed he was looking at his injured brother through an ocean's worth of water. Only when Riley moved his head did the pooling tears fall.

"Oh, dear God…get the medics over here quick." It was someone Riley could only assume was a teacher. From the sound of the stager in the voice, it seemed that the person, a male, was not expecting what he found. Then from behind, Riley felt a gentle, yet extremely firm grip on his left arm, pulling him up from where he knelt. Once on his feet, he recognized the all too familiar sound of cuffs adjusting on his slender wrists. Unbelievably, he made absolutely no protest as the male voice worriedly murmured, 'come on, son' as he was guided through the now clearing science hall. Outside he was led to the normally calm school front, now polluted with police cruisers, fire-house ambulances, and fire trucks; all their lights mutedly strobing against the bright blue sky.

A few more seconds passed and he found himself in the back of a squad-car that Jazmine was currently occupying, in cuffs herself. She was quietly staring at her feet at the time, well, more like looking through them. It was anyone's guess where she was then. Jazmine hadn't looked up when she was joined, so it was fairly clear she had no idea with whom she shared that leather backseat. The doors were closed and for a few moments, they sat in silence.

"…Jazmine?" The sound his voice made as it said her name seemed somehow stunted. The empty silence of before reclaimed the space of the cab as it swallowed the last extinguishing wisps of her spoken name. The silence then was deafening to Riley, the kind that dries mouths and turns stomachs. It was indeed unbearable—but ironically not so much as the sound of his voice that dared to penetrate it with words so worthless it burned him to utter them. "…I'm sorry…"

"…"

She said nothing, and Riley knew then that even though all was quiet in the car and it was clear that she heard him, she in fact had not. The light in her eyes that Riley always knew was there, but never paid any mind, had gone out—and he had damn noticed then.

How the fuck did this happen? What the hell went wrong? It wasn't supposed to be like this…just a scuffle at best; a few scratches and some hurt feelings—not this kind of raw violence. People were not suppose to get hurt; not Jazmine, especially not his brother, not the adults who were trying to break it up, and not any of the kids who were just too stupid and scared to get out of the damn way.

As he sat in the killing silence he shared with Jazmine, whom he was sure was in her own private hell, Riley realized that every child in that hall lost something that day…and Riley knew a great deal of that blame landed on him. How could he have done this? And what about Grandad? Sure he knew that his grandfather thought he was an ass—but what would he think of him now? When he found out, Riley was sure that he'd get much more than just a crack across the ass with his grandfather's belt.

Feeling more sober than anything, Riley finally looked out the window, which was covered by bars. Another ambulance, white, had entered the bus lanes that were already strangled tight with emergency vehicles—a number of onlookers had begun to gather around the fringes of the campus—no doubt attempting to ascertain what the terrible thing was that had obviously occurred in their quiet neighborhood, and at the elementary school no less. Then he saw it. One by one, people being carried out on gurneys—some adults, mostly children. From where he was, he could not make out who was who—that is, until a large body was being wheeled out. Butch of course—goddamn that fucker. After him, a large mass of dark hair—Huey, they had him strapped in well—those bright orange brace blocks on either side of his head were quite possibly the most visible thing Riley could see, and then was when it finally hit him. He did not cry though—his mind was so far beyond tears, his body couldn't even fathom them. It wasn't long after Riley saw his brother loaded into one of the many red ambulances did he find himself reeling from strange pain—he was in his own hell now, profound and inescapable it seemed…and so help him God it was just the beginning. Just what the fuck had he done?

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A/N: I do hope that this story is back online now…I feel so bad to leave you guys hanging so long with that ridiculous cliffhanger…I just hope it doesn't happen again. Anyway, I'd like to say that this arc of the story is just about over. I'd also like to say that from this, there will be borne some interesting conflicts. I think my fire is back!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Alrighty! Well, this chapter is pretty much the aftermath. You know, that whole 'blah, blah, blah' in between the action—its actually the longest chapter so far. I wanted to have it up before I left for California. I'll be gone for a week, so I wanted those who are following this story (thank you all for real) something to kinda mill over—at least for a few seconds until you jump to the next fic.

A week had passed since the incident—Huey had returned home from the hospital three days ago…and had said nothing to Riley since. Well, he had actually, but nothing outside of small talk—or rather—when he himself was spoken too. Riley found himself, after his brother's return, asking Huey every few hours or so that he was awake if he was alright. On the first day, he never got much of a response, as his brother was still on the pain-killers prescribed to him. The second day, he was awake for longer periods—reading of course. The third day—currently—he was moving a bit on his own now, but not much. He didn't like getting out of the bed because of his head. In the hospital, it was found that Huey suffered four separate bone contusions (bruising of the actual bone itself) a strained back, and a concussion—from Butch's punch to the back of his head. It made him dizzy to be out of the bed for longer than a few minutes.

As for Riley, he had obviously been suspended—for ten days. Truth be told, at the time he had been, the assistant principal had no real grounds to suspend him because it was not clear yet his evolvement in the fight. Of course they did not say they were 'officially' suspending him—politics—just clearing the air until things could be gotten to the bottom of. Riley knew better though—he was next to his brother in the hall when the other adults had finally made it to the battleground. Undoubtedly, authorities were going to question all the children they believed were there and they wanted to make sure that he or any other potential suspects weren't in school biasing the answers of student.

Whatever.

It more than likely wouldn't be long before everything came to light as far as what he, Jazmine and Huey had done—although he wasn't sure exactly what role Huey had played. Either way, _somebody_ was getting expelled, period. And Riley wasn't all too sure he cared. School for him always seemed a never-ending chore, and the thought of class alone was enough to bore him to tears. Still though, could it not have been under different circumstances? As of yet, his grandfather didn't know exactly how to approach the ordeal. Obviously he was much more concerned with the condition of his elder grandson than why they were suspending Riley. As far as he knew, it was for the best, but it didn't stop him from fussing. 

"Even out here, yall cain't keep yo'narrow black asses outta damn trouble! Why in da'hell I gotta go down the po-leece station of all places and find out all the negro-blooded children in da'middle'ah all that nonsense?!"

And it was true. After the last of the ambulances had pulled out of the school, Riley and Jazmine had been taken to the police station and placed together in a small room on a bench opposite the door. They were alone there for about a minute before a male officer came in and sat down at a desk over to the right. During that minute though, Jazmine did say something to him, or more accurately, to the floor.

"These cuffs hurt."

He could imagine so; they were hurting him. During that moment, he could have chosen anything as his response—although her observation didn't really require reply. He remained silent though. He figured that there was not much to say then—they could only wait. Not long after the male officer came in, a female officer followed. While she wasn't an overly attractive woman, she did not look like so many of the hard and angry dykes that would patrol the neighborhoods he and his brother once lived in. She was white, with her hair short cropped. Amber in color, it bobbed limply about her jaw-line as she walked, approaching the both of them. Another second passed and it became apparent that her interest lay more with Jazmine.

"Ok, I'm going to take these cuffs off you now." The female officer said as she pulled Jazmine slightly forward so that she could have access to the restraints. When they were off, she told her to stand. As they left the room, he could hear the woman officer tell Jazmine that her parents would be there shortly. If that was so, he could assume that his grandfather would be along as well. Good thing Jazmine's father was a lawyer…

At the time Riley had been sitting in his bed. Huey finally dozed off and was now snoring lightly. It was the only sound in the room before Granddad opened the door and poked his head in, motioning to the younger boy with an old and slender finger for him to follow. Sitting at the kitchen table, Riley couldn't help but notice the deep lines of displeasure folding cleanly into his grandfather's face. So far, he hadn't really said anything to him about what happened that day…Riley supposed that was going to happen now. When his grandfather spoke, the tone was even but weighted.

"Boy, I can't even begin to tell you how disappointed I am about all of this--" Riley then instinctively had the urge to interject in his defense, but told himself it would be wise to let Granddad say his peace without interruption.

"I was over there talkin' to Tom and Sarah about all of this and I still don't know what to think." When Robert said nothing more, Riley spoke up.

"What did you talk about?"

Robert cut him a stern frown. "Normally I'd say that's not your place, but because I don't entirely agree with why you've been told to stay home, I'll say this much: a hearing over this matter will be taking place early next week, and all the parents of the children involved are going to be there." He sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair. "A lot of young people got hurt that day Riley and litigation doesn't seem out of the question. The only thing I really want to know is to what extent my grand-boys were involved. You don't seem hurt at all, but Huey's upstairs with a concussion and'ah messed up back. I wanna know what the hell is going on, and Riley I want you to tell me what you know."

Shit.

Yeah sure, he could tell him. He could tell him everything. He could tell him about how Rita and her people were fucking with Jazmine and that he suggested to her that she fight them. He could also go on to say that he trained her to brawl and how she tore those bitches a new one. But it was a given he wouldn't do that…everything else he didn't know. Riley knew nothing of just how badly Jazmine had injured Samantha, or how Huey and that other child were very nearly killed by Butch simply because he didn't see. He only knew what his part was, and it was a big one—this was something that he was not ready to reveal to his grandfather just yet…or maybe ever. Putting on the most pitiful face he could muster (which wasn't difficult considering how he felt) he offered his response.

"There's not much ta' tell Granddad, it was happenin' too fast. I jus know that I found Huey in da'middle of the floor all bloody, then some dude put me in cuffs. I sat in'ah police car for a while wit Jazmine and then we was at the police station."

Robert leaned in on the table and raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't do anything?"

Riley froze—big mistake. In just that split second he blew his only chance to say no and still be believed. He thought quickly but carefully.

"Like what?" Lame, sure, but it would buy more time to come up with something better.

"Don't play games with me boy, do you know what's on the line here? Did you contribute anything to the fight that hospitalized all them damn kids!" It was clear Robert was trying to keep his cool, but there was something so enraging about the dumbness of the question, he couldn't help but loose a bit of his temper. Regaining himself quickly, he waited for Riley's answer.

"…I…I threw something…"

Robert's eyes were hard on him now. "What did you throw, Riley?"

"...Ah…ah chair?" It came out more like a question than an answer.

"Boy? What the hell's wrong witchu? Now I dun tol yo ass not'ta be thowin' them damn chairs around all willy-nillie! Did you hit anybody?"

"…Uh, I dunno. Maybe?"

"Maybe? Damnit ta'hell Riley goddamn. I swear if anyone can point a finger at you for thowin' that damn chair and upin' it over someone's head then they really might expel you." He folded his arms and sighed again. "How's Huey?"

"He's a'ight. He was sleep when you called me down."

Robert nodded his head. "I don't really wanna bother him too much cuz his head's ringin' over that concussion, but I'm gunna have to find out something so we can better build a case if we need to."

It was quiet between the two for a second before Riley got up the nerve to ask his grandfather another question.

"Granddad? What's gunna happen wit Jazmine?"

The older man let out yet another tired sigh. "I dunno. Tom says that Jazmine hasn't said anything to either one of them for days—apparently she's been 'unofficially suspended' as well. Either way, it don't sound too good."

Hasn't spoken? Oh God…it was worse than Riley thought.

"Granddad, do you think I could go over'daer an'try'n talk to'er?"

Robert narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Boy, what the hell makes you think I'm'll let you outta dis'here house?"

"Cuz Granddad, I gots'ta talk to'er. Please. I don't know how to explain it right, but I gotta try…please?" And it was true; he didn't know how to put it in a way to make him understand. He really didn't understand it himself, but he knew this was important. Upon seeing the worried determination in Riley's normally precocious eyes, Robert wasn't sure how he could tell him no. Besides, if he could get Tom's chatterbox of a daughter to talk after two and a half days of silence, why not?

"Fine, fine, but no pussy-footin' around. I'm gunna call over there to make sure you're there, you understand me?"

When the doorbell rang and the door was opened, Riley was very sure Thomas Lancaster Dubois wasn't expecting to see him standing there, but if he was indeed surprised, he didn't show it. One could say that the seconds that followed their meeting were becoming increasingly awkward. After about the fifth or so second, Tom broke the silence. His face, normally warm and inviting, carried something poorly camouflaged and notably uncharacteristic of Mr. Dubois—something almost accusatory. Or it could have just been Riley's conscience—the level of guilt he had been feeling as of late was both foreign and overwhelming.

"Yes Riley? What are you doing here?" His voice was deeper, serious beyond anything Riley had ever heard from him—like a father whose family's honor had come under attack. Here, Riley needed to tread carefully by being humble and polite.

"Uh, hi Mr. Doubis. I was talkin' ta'Granddad jus a few minutes ago and he had tol me about how Jazmine hadn't been talkin' much. Is—is she a'ight?"

Tom looked down on the aberrantly sheepish Freeman boy. In actuality, Tom didn't know how to feel about Riley just then. As a lawyer, he had always been taught not to make prejudgments on half facts and assumptions, therefore, he had to ignore the gut feeling he had which suggested that Riley had a great deal to do with what happened at the school.

"Well, outside of what Robert told you, there is not much to add. But I will say that her silence does not absolve her from any responsibility she'll have to take for her actions. Riley, Jazmine is in a lot of trouble—as much as I can't believe it, one of the teachers saw her stab another child in the foot with a pencil and literally throw the girl into a fish tank! More than that, the fish tank fell over and the girl was very badly cut on her arms by the tank's glass. The parents of that girl are looking to press charges—not that they can directly because Jazmine is a juvenile—but Sarah and I are going to have bare the ramifications of such if they do." He gave an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, I don't think Jazmine has the right to see _anyone_ due to her incredible behavior. Of course I'd like to think my Jazzy isn't even capable of such violence, but an entire classroom of 6th graders and their teacher can't be wrong."

Tom also had to put off the feeling that Riley prompted her to such—it was unfair to blame him just because of his ill-advised aspirations of becoming a thug, not to mention that Riley was still just a child himself and he and Jazmine just didn't have that kind of relationship. Tom was simply frustrated, and blamed himself more than anything. It was no one's guess that Tom had always thought of himself as a good father who was raising quite the socially responsible young lady—then this. Well, he supposed that spats among growing girls in school couldn't be avoided in all totales, but what Jazmine did was considered assault and battery, maybe even aggravated battery because of the fact she _stabbed someone in the foot_! It was so unlike his daughter…which probably explained why she hadn't said anything to either he or her mother after all this time—and at last here Riley was inquiring about her. Tom wasn't sure he felt like dealing with him so soon after his grandfather had there. Taking another deep breath, he was preparing to send the boy home when the Freeman child finally spoke up.

"I'd like to talk wit'er, if I can."

All the more reason for Riley to leave.

"No Riley, I don't think so. I think you should go now…"

"Wait Mr. Dubois please. I know you mad and all bout what Jazmine did, but can't you let me talk to'er for jus a bit? Please Mr. Dubois, I got to!"

If Tom hadn't been showing his aggravation before, it was evident now. "What is so important Riley that you have to speak to Jazmine? You know what? No. Whatever you have to say you're gunna say it to me."

"But--"

"Riley if you can't tell me, then you need to just march yourself back across that street mister because I'm not in the mood to deal with any pre-adolescent foolishness!" While he wasn't loud when he was saying this, his voice was raised. It was that same testiness that his grandfather had shown him while they were in the kitchen, although it was obvious that Tom wasn't going to yield like Granddad had without having information worth hearing.

"Mr. Dubois—it ain't my place ta'jus put business out in da'street, but, I know why she was fightin' in the first place." Tom's eyes widened a bit inside his inward sloping brows. That had got his attention. Now if Riley did it right, he could keep himself covered without telling too much of Jazmine's story while getting himself in the house to talk to her.

"You do?"

"Yeah, dats why you gotta let me talk to'er. She oughdda tell you herself, but I know she ain't gunna say nutun at least till I talk to'er. Please Mr. Dubois?"

Tom looked at Riley a while longer before finally agreeing with a sigh to let him in. If getting his little girl to talk to him meant letting Riley of all people talk to her first, then so be it. He told Riley to have a seat in the living room while he got Jazmine—which was him telling, rather than asking, her to come downstairs. After several moments, Riley saw her round the corner to where he was. The bruises on her face were healing, but she gave him such a look that it made Riley wonder if coming to talk was a good idea after all.

"Riley has brought to light something I wasn't originally aware of. It would be in your best interest to speak with him Jazmine." The tone he took with her was odd—not mean, but more like 'do as I say or you're gunna get it'. When he left the room Riley stood and Jazmine crossed the carpeted floor to him, not stopping ahead of him as he thought, but rather right up on him--so close that he could feel the air from her nose on the top of his lip; her eyes were hard and angry.

"What did you tell him Riley Freeman?" Her voice was low and accusing.

"I said I knew why you fought, nothin' else—that's yo'job." He replied, not removing himself from their close proximity. They stood like that for a number of moments, with noses so close they were practically touching. Finally it was Jazmine who turned away, sitting on the couch when she did.

"They're sending me away, Riley."

Riley mentally drew back; this was not something he was expecting to hear.

"Whatchu mean they sendin' you away? Ta'where? When?" He questioned, trying to keep his voice equally as low so that the conversation remained theirs.

"After the hearing, Mommy and Daddy are sending me to Philadelphia so I can stay with my grandmother there. They're already sure that I'm going to be expelled for what I did to Samantha; I guess they don't know about Rita and Julie yet. When they do, I'm outta the Woodcrest School System for sure. My mom says that if she can, she's going to enroll me in a school close to where my grandma lives."

Jazmine stared down into her lap as she gripped the edge of the sofa cushion.

"I—I wanna say it was your fault, but I know its not. There was nothing anywhere saying that I _had_ to fight those girls—but I did, and I have to be responsible for that. I just feel bad for my parents. They don't know what to think." Riley looked at her as she continued to speak.

"But I do. They got what they deserved Riley—and to me that's all that matters. I'm not even sure I care that all those other people were hurt. I mean, I know I do, but I just don't feel like I do…does that make me a bad person Riley?"

Riley let his nostrils flare as he sucked a breath through them. What the hell kind of question was that? How would he know? But then again, he could see where she was coming from—he had felt the same way on day two of Huey being at home.

"Naw, I don't." He wished that Huey was there…he knew that he could offer up some philosophical psycho mind shit neither of them would understand but would somehow help them feel better about all of it.

"Jazmine, how come you haven't been talkin' to yo folks? You got'em, like, all worried'n shit."

She drew her face in. "I can't talk to them Riley. Not about this—they wouldn't understand…not _my_ parents…not even me—_I_ don't get it. _I_ don't understand why _I_ was so angry. But I guess that doesn't matter now."

"It does so matter. Sure, I could see how yo pops wouldn't know—that nigga's a square fo'real, but I cain't see how yo moms cain't feel you neither. Bein' all quiet ain't go'wn do shit…that's prolly why they sendin' you off to Philly witcho gran'ma in da'first place."

She breathed out and spoke seriously. "Riley, I'm very sure that there are things that you know you can't talk to your granddad about just because no matter how hard you try, he's just not going to understand, and if not him, your brother at least. This whole mess at the school is something that my parents won't understand, at least, as much as I would need them to. When you're stuck in the middle of everything that's supposed to define who you are, even the people who are supposed to know you best just don't get it—like parents."

It was a profound statement, one that Riley couldn't really disagree on. It was no secret, at least in the Freeman household, that Jazmine was viewed as an ultra-sheltered, naïve mulatto who didn't know much beyond the sugar-coated fairytales that her parents would feed her (well, according to Huey—Riley didn't give that much of a care at the time). Listening to her right then though, began casting her in a new light—a light that suggested she was smarter than people would give her credit for—including her parents. And it was enough to make is head hurt. Riley couldn't believe how much he just wanted to blink and make it all go the hell away. Pulling up on the thighs of his jeans, he knelt down to the couch next to her and rested his arms there, looking up at her as he did.

"How long you gunna be away?"

"I'm not sure. They were talking maybe three months." She replied, never once actually looking at him.

"Yo dad said that Samantha's parents are gunna try and sue. He told me what you did—that was pretty damn gangsta." Jazmine closed her eyes and snorted through her nose a soundless chuckle. Yeah, she supposed it was pretty gangsta.

"But Jazz, you knew why you was so mad," Riley continued. "…It was what them bitches was doin'. I know Rita was as bad as you was talkin' cuz she was thowin' out dim racial slurs'n shit—dat hoe was bad news, Butch too. I'm sure that other people got yo back on dat. Jazz, you know they goin' down. It ain't gunna take long for folks to start talkin' bout how bad they was—sure you gunna get in some trouble—but they go'wn catch it more. It's gunna be all good."

Jazmine smiled a bit at this. "I hope so Riley. I mean, I still hate the fact that I hafta go to see my grandma like this, but maybe me being outta town is for the best." Jazmine paused for a second, appearing thoughtful. "Hey, would you write back if I sent you a letter while I was away?"

It was Riley's turn to smile then, glad to see that she was perking up. Granted it wasn't his style, but, "Yeah, I'd write you back."

"Ok. Then, I guess I'll tell my parents about Rita and the others."

"Cool, you do that cuz that means I won't have to make up nuthin'. But hey, the only thing is," he leaned in close to her as he said this last part, "you can't say nuthin' bout me teachin' you any of that stuff, got it?"

She nodded. "I promise." Jazmine had hit the nail on the head about there being things that he couldn't bring up to his family—ironically the very reason why she was able to fight and win in the first place. She was trustworthy…something that he would never have expected of a blabbermouth like her.

After this, Mr. Dubois stepped into the living room just as Riley and Jazmine stood.

"Riley, I just got a call from your grandfather; he was checking up on you. Are you two alright?"

"Yeah Mr. Dubois," said Riley. "I was fixin' ta'leave. I'll jus let myself out if it's a'ight witchu."

For the first time since he was over there, Tom gave Riley a smile. "Sure thing Riley, get home safe." Giving them both a quick wave, Riley was out the door and heading back. It was still fairly early in the day and he found himself once again deep in thought. He was debating on when, and if he should tell Huey what the deal was. It seemed only fair that he'd know just exactly why he had to spend three days at Woodcrest hospital. He was worried of course. Knowing Huey, he'd react in one of two ways; sit in displeased contemplation, or try and beat his ass. Hopefully he'd stick to the former—Riley wouldn't want to have to handle Huey when he was all banged up.

* * *

A/N: That's right ladies and gents, Jazmine is going bye-bye—at least for a little while. I'm not exactly sure what she'll be doing when she does return—but I can tell you now that she'll have quite the impact on Riley (as if she hasn't had enough on him already). And as for Huey, well, you'll just have to wait till I get back to see!


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Not too much to add, more blah, blah, blah, if you will. Within the next two chapters or so, I can say that things will start picking up again. The Boondocks aren't mine…language. It's been awhile, had to throw that in there.

* * *

The sun was sinking in an uneventful orange blaze behind the tree line when Riley returned to his and Huey's shared bedroom. When he had returned from the Dubois', the exchange between he and his grandfather had been brief in regards to Riley's time over there. After this, Granddad moved to some other area of the house while Riley took up residence on the living room sofa to play a video game; he needed time to think about exactly what he would tell his brother. As the hours passed however, Riley realized that there could be no truly scripted way of informing his brother of the events leading up to the violence that unfurled itself in the science wing of J. Edgar Hoover Elementary, excluding of course the business between he and Jazmine. Reaching that conclusion, and with no small amount reservation, made his way up to the room.

Riley squinted just a bit as the last fiery gleams of the setting sun found his chocolate irises as he moved through the threshold of the bedroom. Moving passed the hood of light, Riley looked across the room to find his brother had indeed awoken and was reading the book he had been keeping while he stayed in the bed.

"How's yo' back?" Riley asked with a tense looseness.

"…Mostly numb, but with a dull throb drumming through. It's annoying now, but it'll hurt worse as the pain-killers ware off." Huey replied distantly as he stared into the tawny pages of his library-bound hardback.

Riley looked at his brother a few moments more, waiting to see if he would lift his eyes from the text. Huey was always like this when he was angry—he would read. Now, this wasn't to say that he only read when he was angry, which one could argue was all the time. This was a different kind of angry—the kind of angry that only the words of an informative volume could effectively bleed away. Technically, with this being said, now was not the most opportune time to start speaking with Huey—about anything. But should he wait? He could, but what could possibly be gained by delaying the time Riley would use to explain to his brother what was painted up to be his side of the story. His side of the fabrication, as it were—grounded in truth…as if that somehow made it better.

Unfortunately for Riley, he was proved time and again by his ever weary brother that he was in fact a horrible liar. With this thought in mind, it only added to Riley's reservation to go into any real detail about key events. The most important thing in all of this was the mission of keeping his training under Thugnificent silent. This was the part that troubled Riley most…it was one thing to withhold information, while it was another thing to start weaving webs...Riley would just have to make it up as he went along and hope that Huey's diminished condition would lend to him the advantaged he needed to continue pulling the wool over Huey's eyes. It was time to begin.

"Huey, what happened to you in the hallway at school?"

The question drew Huey's eyes to Riley. His cheeks at this point could be seen drawing in slightly as if he was thoroughly chafed by the inquiry. Riley watched as his brother slowly lowered the book to his sheet covered lap and folded it closed. Looking at the burgundy colored binding for a moment, he contemplated, as he always did, before he said something exceedingly meaningful.

"Why was Jazmine fighting?"

Whatever mental preparation Riley had been undergoing up to that moment had quickly washed way like so much dirt off vinyl siding. He could feel his sinuses clearing as Huey sliced through in one fell swoop all of the bullshit with the razor-sharp blade of his intellect. Riley was practically cornered.

"Hey, you-you cain't answer ah'question widda question!"

Huey then turned his whole head to face Riley, a dangerous look in his eye that chilled Riley in the way few other people ever could.

"I can and I did." Came Huey's low and dark reply. "I had to defend Jazmine from that lard-ass or else she was gunna have her face caved in. I saw what happened to you Riley. He chucked your ass over that crowed like a damn paper ball, and Jazmine just stood there. What's more Riley, I saw what she did to that girl you were holding—you and she were in on whatever was happening, I _know _you were. Jazmine doesn't fight—and even if she did, she doesn't fight like _that_. That was your street shit Riley, and I swear to whatever god out there that if my back wasn't fucked I'd beat every truth out of your ignorant, self-perpetuating ass."

Riley was mortified. His jaw began to slack ever-so-slightly at the level of venom that soaked every syllable; ignorant, self-perpetuating. He'd be insulted if he hadn't been locked in place by the graveness of his brother's words.

"For your information," Huey continued, "I was protecting some other kid that giant fucker picked up and threw at me like a goddamn softball. He punched me in my head, tore up my back and then stood on it. _That_, Riley, is what happened to me in the hall. But that's not what's important. Tell me what's happening with Jazmine."

Riley felt microscopic under the weight of Huey's question. While Riley's brow was furrowed, it was in such a way that he could have returned with either an angry retort, or burst into tears, or both. However, he was still so stunned, he barely had voice enough to give a response—Huey had torn him down quickly…just like him to when he knew Riley was guilty. He swallowed dryly as his subdued voice struggled over the falling dust particles that glinted briefly in the remaining reddish-orange wash that was the setting sun.

"S-she's gunna stay wit her gran'ma for a bit in Philly."

"She's been suspended hasn't she?"

"…Yeah."

There were several tense moments that passed before more was said. Riley watched as Huey slowly, and painfully by way of his face, readjusted down in his bed against the pillows he had propped himself up on. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, his eyes on the darkened computer out passed the foot of his bed. His next words came as equally controlled as the ones he spoke before he readjusted, but they were calmer now, but calm in a way that only the very aged and weary would speak…as if Huey at that moment was in fact older than the very grandfather whose custody they were in.

"There was a reason why Jazmine was fighting…you know what it was, I know you do. Tell me the truth, what the hell is going on Riley?"

Riley could feel the blood pounding in his temples. There was something in the way Huey asked the question that said to Riley that he was looking for the deeper truth…the one that had nothing to do with Jazmine at all. Riley was weak then, but not foolish. He would tell Huey the truth of the matter with Jazmine, but that was all—Riley's skeletons were his to keep, and Huey would just have to accept that.

He walked around to the side of his bed closest to Huey at sat on it. Looking down at his jean covered lap, Riley began to speak.

"She was gunna come to you anyway dawg."

Huey raised a brow. "Bout what?"

"About that girl you saw. Her name's Rita Theronguard. She'n dees other two hoes was fuckin' wit Jaz an' she was gunna talk to you bout how ta'deal. She was lookin' fo'you an' asked me if I seent'chu an' I was like, 'naw'."

While Riley was saying these words, he was carefully devising what next to say that would put blame on himself, but cover up what he had been doing with Thugnificent. From what Huey was saying, he hadn't seen anything that would give any inclination that Jazmine fought better than what she could have learned under Riley's previously undeveloped street brawling style. Let him think that—it would throw him off enough to keep him from delving further. Riley continued.

"She tol' me what was up an' I was like, 'you should stomp dem bitches', an' at first she was like 'naw', but din she was like 'yeah', so I showed her how'ta thow a few punches an' shit jus went from daer."

Huey looked at him. "So you're saying that Jazmine was being personally attacked by a girl named Rita along with two others. She was gunna come to me for advice, but she ran into you while she was looking for me, and you told her that she should fight and you showed her how to throw punches? Riley are you crazy? Jazmine isn't even that kind of person! When you showed her that stuff, she took it to heart! I can't believe you!" Huey sigh gruffly and tiredly. "Basically what I'm getting from all of this is that you helped to perpetuate an already volatile situation that ended up in not only the hospitalization of myself, but several other people in the school! Riley you oughtta be ashamed of yourself!"

So he bought it. And he still seemed to believe that Jazmine was still the same gullible sap that he had always been taking her for. Little did he know just exactly how much she had changed in that short amount of time—there was indeed a hole in Huey's wisdom…he made assumptions, something he swore he never did. How blisteringly ironic.

"More than that," Huey went on, "I don't know what they're gunna do with me because I got caught up in that. I know you were trying to help Riley, but damn…sometimes you cause more problems than anything else…"

Fine, let him think that too, just as long as he didn't think Riley was being anything more, or less, irresponsible than he usually was…which hurt him a lot. That being said, he hurt for Jazmine too. Too often the both of them were written off by someone or another because of their so-called naivety and ignorance. There was no doubt in Riley's mind the love he had for his brother, but at that moment, he couldn't help but feel exceptionally close to Jazmine…frankly there was no one he could identify more with on the matter.

"Huey, I'm really sorry bout all this man…I'm sorry you got messed up, but I promise that shit go'wn go right…I don't know if I should say this, but that fight was somethin' that needed to happen. And I want you to know that Jazmine did what was right fo'her. Give'er a little credit man, and give me some too."

With that, Riley stood and made his way downstairs and out the front door, at that point, he wasn't too terribly interested in any response that Huey might have offered right then. As he walked off the stoop, he spotted his basketball in one of the bushes closest to the house. Picking it up absently, he began to dribble the ball a bit, trying to block out most of what had just transpired, although it would be a long time coming before he could shake loose those first threatening words that came from Huey. He could see where he was coming from but still…he could have saved that. Riley _hated_ being put on trial, even though half the time he actually deserved it.

Looking up at the basket, which was now being illuminated more by the street lamps than the failing daylight, he began preparing for the first of what Riley figured would be several brick shots before something caught his eye. Turning around to face out over the street, he saw a very familiar figure standing beside it's mailbox.

"HEY! Whassup ma'lil' nigga! Getcho ass over here an' come holla atcha boy!"

It was Thugnificent. As soon as he had called out to him, Riley felt that now too familiar cold creep into his skin. Stepping down the driveway, Riley checked the street before crossing and trotted up to tall rapper in his ever present long white tee and nappy afro-puffs. He smelled of weed and his eyes were a bit red, as if he had already come off his high, but had just finished satisfying the 'munchies' clause. He must have been out getting some fresh air.

"Yo, Riley!" he began with guffaw, "I heard that some shit went down at'cho school! I heard there was po-leeces, amba-lances, fire trucks an' errathang! What the hell lil' nig?"

Riley nearly winced. "Oh, I guess you heard bout dat huh?"

"Nigga who ain't? They got that shit on blast every damn where! I hear dat Butch kid got fucked up. Riley man, _please_ tell me dat was you!" Thugnificent asked with the same glee that was not uncommon in children who actually got what they wanted for Christmas.

"Well, I know my brother tangled wit him for a tic, but it was me who ended up crackin' a foldin' chair across his mile-high fo'head." Riley replied with forced enthusiasm…Thugnificent didn't seem to catch it.

"Dats my lil' nigga!!" He hooted loudly. After Thugnificent's laughter subsided, he looked down to Riley and placed a sprawling hand across the span of the boy's cornrows. "A'ight, dats a bet. When you think you go'wn be free? I need you back at da'house, I gots some shit to go over witcha, ya'heard?"

Riley looked at the older man almost quizzically. "Uh, I don't really know, I's kinda suspended right now…"

"Well then don't you think dat now's one of the best times?" Thugnificent inquired with growing seriousness.

"I don't know Nificent. Granddad's gunna have me on lock for a while until shit get back right."

A sly smile crept on Thugnificent's face that Riley couldn't help but feel uneasy about.

"That ol' nigga ain't awake 24/7. Meet me tonight at my house 1 a.m. You got that?"

Immediately Riley's face twisted into an obvious plea.

"Nificent please, not tonight…I ain't ready jus yet. I-I'll come thew, jus…please…cain't it wait till tomorrow?"

Thugnificent's features became disturbingly darker as he loomed overhead…in plain view of the entire neighborhood. All's one had to do was walk, or even drive by in that dusk and they would immediately know something was wrong.

"A'ight, fine. You take yo evenin'. But word to the wise, you ain't got no'moe times to bitch out on me like dis, you dig lil' homie?"

Riley nodded silently if not a little fearfully, then headed back across the street, basketball tucked firmly under his arm. Yeah, it was a cop-out alright…but why now though? Honestly, Riley was glad that he hadn't had to deal with Thugnificent on the level they had just exchanged on. He was having his own problems now, his own little pre-adolescent drama—being gangsta on the fo'real wasn't something that Riley was necessarily ready to jump back into…but he would. Thugnificent obviously wanted something big if Riley was to steal out of the house at such a late hour. Either way, he had a whole other day and a half to worry about it. Too much time, in Riley's opinion.

Back inside his house—Riley didn't linger outdoors—he went to the fridge to get an orange soda. Taking it into the living room, he set it down on the coffee table. Riley slumped to the couch and proceeded to recede into its cushions, somewhat depressed by the new developments. Didn't he just finish misleading his injured brother who was apparently loosing what little faith he had in him? It was bad enough he had to play off his going out during the day to the rapper's estate, but leaving the house late at night was taking it to a level that Riley wasn't all too comfortable with. Oh well, he'd just have to get over it, athough there was a little voice in the back of his mind that was saying that all of it just sounded too strange. Riley was no fool, he'd listen to that voice—but not now, and he supposed then that he was indeed a fool for it.

* * *

A/N: Oh boy, here we go again! What could Thugnificent possibly want with Riley now? 1 a.m. house calls? I don't know…sounds like some Michael Jackson shit to me. (No really, much love to Michael, but I couldn't resist!)


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Sorry for the delay. For past two months I've been enduring 'prom season' at the tuxedo shop I work at. Dressing at least 200 high school boys for over sixty days has left me mentally exhausted and tapped for imagination; if you think making someone see that Brown and bright Fuchsia pink don't go together would be simple, you'd be sadly mistaken—true story. But enough about me.

For a moment I'll be taking a slight detour in this chap. Just to hold down on the confusion, this chapter is taking place at a different time in another location. In the coming chapters you'll find this has everything to do with the main story arc. You'll also find that this chapter is very long. Enjoy.

* * *

Leroy stared up at the unevenly spackled and water-stained ceiling, the last rays of the setting sun slowly retreating off the equally water-stained walls.

Nightfall was approaching.

…Not that daylight ever warded off any of the dissonance that settled on the streets of his less than amicable neighborhood—its just that its leaving seemed to take what little hope was left with it. It meant that one had to prepare for the coming night—and for all the little and not so little things that went bump in it.

Leroy shifted his weight on the too small bed, its springs creaking painfully under the strain. Looking across the small and cluttered space that was his bedroom, Leroy brought his legs around to place filthy socked feet flat on the bare floor. Cracking his back and spreading wide his massive 6'5 frame, he grunted uneasily as his joints popped in response to their new movement. There came two brief knocks on his wooden door, whose surface had been painted over so many times in the past the yellowish coating no longer bonded to the wood. Leroy looked at the seemingly ancient portal as a female voice came close through the thick wood, suggesting the speaker was pressed right against the crack between the door and its jamb.

"Lee-roy? I got some pork'n beans cookin' on'da stove. You wan'dadah' fix you some?"

Staring mindlessly at the soiled socks on his feet, Leroy allowed a second or so to transpire before responding.

"Naw, I'm good."

"You sure baby? I gots some co'wnbread too."

"Naw, I'm straight."

There was a pause.

"Is you goin' out ta'night?"

There was another pause.

"Yeeh…"

Yeah, it was kinda funny—the way his mama and everyone else said his name, always dragging out the 'e'. Actually, 'Leroy' wasn't and had never been his name; it was merely a nickname, a handle, an alias. Given to him by one of his late cousins when he was a great deal younger, as he recalled. For a while he didn't know what it meant, but all the grown folks around him seemed to pickup on the meaning and the name stuck. It wasn't until years later, after watching a martial arts movie staring an African-American lead did he understand the meaning of the handle. From that point on, he would scarcely acknowledge his given name, and before long would introduce himself only under the faux name to everyone he met, associated and directly dealt with. He figured it was safer that way.

There was another pause still, then the voice on the other side of the door spoke again—sounding slow and unfortunate.

"Oh, alright'den. You be careful, ya' hear?"

"A'ight mama."

..oo..

Fifteen or so minutes later, after night had completely fallen, Leroy set out to his destination. His streets were dangerous then—only the most undesirable elements could be found farther than their doorsteps now. With his Czech CZ-82 pistol fairly well tucked into the waistband of his black sweatpants, Leroy walked unhurriedly around the corner of the block. Anyone living in this place that planned to travel after dark knew not draw attention to themselves by walking too fast--it was always better to seem indifferent in your stride than purposeful. Granted this method didn't always work, but hell, that was what the cannon was for.

Passing several gloomy domiciles on the way, Leroy finally reached the stoop he sought and knocked the code for safe entrance; one knock towards the upper left of the wooden door, and two knocks in quick succession in the lower center. The denseness of the wood was different in these places, thus allowing the person on the other side to discern friend from dead nigga.

"Yeeh?" Came the low answer from the interior.

"It's Lee-roy."

After about three seconds, the knob on the door could be seen turning, and at the end opening up just enough for him to get through if he turned sideways. The inside was poorly lit, with the only light coming from somewhere farther back in the house. Turning to his left, as the door was closed behind him, was the person who let him in. Despite the failing light, Leroy was easily able to tell who it was, one of his nigga's boys, Roscoe. Quickly giving the standard hand greeting which began with loud slap, both Leroy and Roscoe made their way back to the better lit part of the house.

In a room illuminated by a single cheap floor lamp--to the left down a short hallway--sat a very tall and very husky black man with a lit joint cinched between two fingers. In the room with him were four others—all of them burnin' it down around a low rising table. Upon entering, the group looked up to face him, giving the tell-tale upward nod that signified to Leroy their acknowledgement of his presence.

The large one, separate from the others, was Knuckles—this was his house. Walking over to him, Leroy bent over a bit as Knuckles leaned in to give their handshake. While he paid it no mind, Leroy couldn't help but notice (once again) during the handshake how Knuckles earned himself the handle. His hands—absolute bear paws—were exceptionally dry and rough, and his chubby knuckles were perpetually white as chalk from ash. His face was chunky, much like the rest of him, with lips that were huge and eyes that were beady. The man smelled constantly of weed and always had a sheen of sweat across his brow. No matter how many times he would wipe it dry with his light blue rag, it would moisten right back (he blamed it on his 'hot naturedness'). Personally, Leroy figured that he used burning weed like some sort of cologne to mask his perpetual funk, because whenever he wasn't smoking—which was hardly ever—he smelled like ass directly proportional to his own. He could probably kill a full-blown cockroach nest—eggs included—all the way through the walls if he stood there long enough. That being so, it went without saying that Leroy found the man utterly discussing, but obviously never let on to such in front of anyone.

"Wuhdit is, Roy?" He drawled out slowly as he picked up a forty of some assorted beer and put it to his crusty and massive lips.

"Aw, you know howit is Knuck, same toilet, same shit."

Knuckles looked at Leroy a bit and smiled at the quip, the fronts on his teeth showing up on his dark face like gaudy yellow stars on a moonless night. "Whuchu got fo'me?" He continued.

"Scoe." The large man said shortly, summoning his lackey to him. "Go an' get Dae-Dae's stuff out'da back." Orders given, Roscoe wordlessly departed the room and remained gone for several moments, leaving time for Leroy and Knuckles to converse more.

"Yo Knuck, I gots some news."

"Uh huh?" Knuckles' red and clouded eyes seem to clear for a second at the idea 'news'.

"I don't know how long I'kin keep runnin' fo'ya, man."

"Why?" Came the response, his moistened brow creasing with the question.

"I gots a lil' sumin'-sumin' goin' on in'da Dec. If dis'shit blow up, I'muh be out."

"Whutchu got over in 'Kayda, Roy?" One of the other four suddenly inquired.

"Recordin' some tracks."

All the seated men began to chuckle.

"Oh yeah?" Said the same man. "So you go'wn do it up like dem'utha niggas—T.I'n shit?"

Leroy felt himself grow uncomfortable at the jeer. Roscoe returned as he offered his response.

"Man, why ya'll gotta put ah'nigga down, eh?"

"Nigga please. Ain't no one tryin'ta put yo' nappy-headed ass down. We jus don't want you fo'getten that yo'ass stays apartuhda game. Take da'shit from'em." Knuckles said with a grin pointing to Roscoe, who was standing just off to the side of Leroy. Looking to him, Leroy allowed Roscoe to hand him the large wrapped brick. Holding it at his side, Leroy gave no indication of his surprise. This had to be at least three kilos of coke, the most he had ever moved at one time for a single customer. Knuckles clucked a bit under his breath.

"Yeah, I'kin see it in yo' eyes Roy. Dat righ'thurr is ova six pounds of'da finest powda norfuhda mutha-fuckin' boarda."

Leroy's eyes fluttered briefly from the brick back to Knuckles.

"You know me, I'm all fo'it Knuck, but dis' alotta damn coke tuh be runnin' all da' way tuh'da uthua side."

"Is you tellin' me you scared?" Knuckles queried in an almost mocking fashion.

"Naw."

"I ain't think so. I coulda got anybody fa'dis, but I wanned you cuz you can do a lil' bit mo'den alotta ma'utha foot niggas. I got alotta shit comin' in on dis'one. You go'wn get yo' cut right fo'runnin' it." At this point, Knuckles brought up the neglected blunt to his mouth. Taking in a deep breath, Leroy watched as the glowing ring of burning marijuana ate down to the thickly callused fingers that pinched it. After about thirty seconds, did Knuckles allow the gray kush to vent from the thin opening his lips created, only to be sucked back in through large nostrils and expelled again through the open mouth.

"Who?" Leroy questioned at last in regards to the one whom would be receiving this more than expensive package.

"Uh nigga named Needles. He godda big-ass scar in'duh middluha his fo'head. If it ain't him when you meet up, you betta make wit'sumuh'dat ninja shit an'get yo'ass back here."

Leroy was unfamiliar with anyone named Needles. He had run shit to Dae Dae before, but he had always done it on a first person bases. Then again, considering the worth of the product, Leroy could understand the idea of a middleman. "…A'ight." And without another word after that, Leroy turned on his sneakered heel and departed from the room. As he moved to the exit, Roscoe had stopped him to give him a small—and rather flimsy—backpack to carry the brick. Giving him a nod, Leroy took a few moments to secure the parcel and load it onto his back. It was a good thing too; he was wondering just exactly how he was going to get all the way through Terra Belle of all places with a six pound brick of coke under his arm without being noticed. He was good, but not that damn good.

Forty-five minutes had passed when Leroy had finally reached the designated rendezvous point, a small ally no wider than the width of it's narrow sidewalk. On one side was a privacy fence so heavily tagged with graffiti, no part of the actual wood could be seen. On the opposite side was a row of small houses haphazardly strung together by various power lines; they themselves were bordered by a faltering and rusted-out chain link fence. The fractured concrete of the sidewalk was wet with water from an unknown source, leaving it to barely catch the light of the only street post whose lamp had not been shot out. It wasn't as if Leroy hadn't made runs over here before, its just that the crampedness of the location made him feel as uncomfortable as the area around him; that feeling being magnified tenfold by the weight of so much pure powdered cocaine resting innocently at the small of his back. As the seconds of inactivity ticked by, he felt his uneasiness grow. Should anything go wrong now, he would find himself with very few options for quick escape; the wooden privacy fence was unusually high, and the chain link fence wore at its dilapidated zenith a crown of rusted barbed wire. If worst came to worst, he'd have to fight his way out, and as the eventless silence wore on, Leroy was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of set up…

"You Lee-roy?"

Startled, Leroy couldn't stifle his small jump at the unexpectedness of the voice that came from above his head. Shooting his gaze upward, he found a man knelt down on the low hanging roof of the house he stood next to. How long had that nigga been up there? And more importantly, why hadn't he notice him before? Moreover, from that angle, Leroy could not make out any features of his face; this person could've been anyone.

"I hope you unduhstand me not sayin' nuthin' till we face ta'face." Leroy replied coolly to the perched man.

With that, the man stood then leapt down from the roof. Over flying the barbed and rusted fence, he landed with all the stealthy grace of a veteran assassin on the wet concrete below. With him standing erect Leroy could now look into the face of this person, upon which he found the man to possess the aforementioned scar. Bold as a crest it was deeply engraved on his forehead, visible in spite of the hat he wore. For a moment, Leroy wondered just what exactly had this young man gotten into to earn himself such an angry blemish. However, that was hardly important.

"Yeeh, you him a'ight." Leroy said at last. "I'm dat nigga an' I got dat shit. So, you good?"

"Yeeh I'm good, but I ain't da' one wit'da dough. Dae Dae still holdin it. You gots ta git it from him."

Now hold the goddamn phone. None of this was mentioned in the briefing Leroy received earlier that evening about this deal.

"Naw playa, dat' shit wunt partuhda plan. I wus spose ta give it tuh you, get payment an be on ma'way. Dis shit too deep tuh be changin' on'da fly." Suddenly the invisible straps of tension in the air began to constrict.

"Den we gots ourselves uh problem." The man replied with a coolness that was far too aloof for Leroy's liking.

"Ain't no problem, I'm jus goin by wut Knuck said. If it ain't goin down jus like dat, den I gots ta be out."

"Look nigga," Needles said quickly. "I'm tryin ta be diplomatic. Shit change, I ain't got no reason ta lie. Dae Dae got yo shit. I been tol to escort you to'em to do da exchange. Can you _please_ not be difficult?"

Here this nigga was jumpin out the damn shadows like fuckin' Darkwing Duck changin' shit on a more than crucial deal, and he was telling _him_ not to be difficult? This cat had some nerve. Still, as absurd as it all was, Leroy had to work to defuse the situation. No point in making a mountain out of a molehill.

"Ay man, I ain't tryin' ta be difficult, but surely you see how dis seem suspect ta me?"

"Nigga, whateva. Look. I see where you comin' from, but real talk is dat if you don't come, thurr go'wn be consequences." He said slapping the back of one hand into his upturned palm for emphasis. "I do beseech you, jus go ta Dae Dae an' thurr won't be no issues."

No way. No goddamn way. This really _was_ turning into a setup! And what the hell did he mean by consequences? Was that supposed to be some kind of threat? Fuck decorum. He wanted to know, so he asked.

"Hol up nigga, is that uh threat?" His tone was low, but it did little to mask his offence.

"Ay nigga, I ain't gotta threaten yo ass. I'm speakin' truths. I know what you rollin around wit an' I guarantee dat you or yo people don't wanna go ta war ova dis. Jus be fuckin' easy an' dis shit can get handled proper."

Leroy stared at him for a few seconds then looked away, contemplating. This shit was bad, real bad. But this Needles nigga had a point. The coke on his back was worth starting what would quickly escalate into a full scale gang war. What was more, Leroy didn't have time for that—he had beats to make; the shit that would finally get him and his mama outta the Terra Belle slums, and hopefully outta this drug game. A long time ago Leroy had learned the importance of picking one's battles carefully, despite the fact that foregoing one's proclivity to self preservation was a more than difficult task. It had to be a setup; there was no way it wasn't. Finally coming to the bristling conclusion of being the victim of a classic Catch 22, Leroy grimaced and sighed loudly. At that point, there was no other way around it.

"Lead the damn way."

With Needles pointing ahead of him, in the direction opposite of where Leroy faced, the two began their way up the narrow path to wherever it was they were going. When he got back with Knuckles, he would definitely be having some choice words with him…if he got back at all.

..oo..

The two walked for several minutes in silence until they arrived at a small house not unlike the one Knuckles owned, the misery of the architecture was only highlighted by the unpleasant night air. After two brief steps onto the porch Needles turned to face Leroy, running his index finger up the underside of his septum as he did.

"Uh, you go'wn hafta check yo piece." He said holding his upturned palm near his hip. Leroy looked at the open palm, to the door ahead, then back to the scared face of his escort. The longer it went on, the worse his situation seemed to become.

"Come'own nigga, we ain't got all fuckin' night." Needles said impatiently as he shifted his weight. Leroy pursed his lips again as he complied, pulling the Czechoslovakian military issued pistol out of his sweats. With the gun now in Needles' possession, he moved to the door and called though it.

"Ay, its Needles. I got that nigga Lee-roy wit me."

Leroy watched with growing trepidation as the door unlocked and came open. Needles looked to him then pointed, with his gun no less, to the open entrance. Hooking his thumbs through the thin straps of the flimsy drawstring bag, he crossed the threshold into the small house. With Needles the man at the door now at his back, he stood amongst several gritty looking hoods in the carpeted living room—six in all not including the two standing behind him. After several seconds of intense silence, footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. The six parted evenly on both sides to let the newcomer through.

This person was Dae Dae.

"Ay Dae Dae man, wassup? Why all da changes?" Leroy asked. Dae Dae said nothing for a few empty moments, as if searching for something impressive to say.

"Cuz, I'm about ta drop alotta damn cheese on dis shit, an' I prefer that happen where I'kin see it. I'm sure you can realize that I'ma man who likes ta be in control of da sitzy-ashin."

Bullshit, Leroy spat in thought. Dae Dae ain't never been in control of shit, but here he was now frontin' like a motherfucker. Leroy always felt this guy wasn't about nothin', but he could suppose that money and drugs had a way of changing things around. While at Knuckles', he didn't dare query as to how exactly Dae Dae on the North Quad got his hands on enough gwap to cover the cost of such wildly expensive cocaine. Either way, that wasn't important now. Dae Dae wanted control and control he got. Leroy was now pinned in a room full of potential adversaries with no armament of any kind and no decent way out. At this point, he'd be lucky if he left with his life.

"But anyway, lessie da'goods—pullit out ova here." Dae Dae said motioning to a small glass and wood coffee table in front of a couch that was off to his left. Letting his eyes flash quickly to the table, Leroy moved slowly in removing the small bag from his back. Hovering over the ring-stained surface, he lowered the incased brick of coke and loosened the strings that kept it hidden. Dae Dae, who had since moved over to watch, looked on with great intensity as the block of cocaine was revealed. Swells of aw and other sounds of delight filled the small living room as the compressed powder came into view.

"A'ight Dae Dae, here it is, three kilos of coke. Jus lemmie collect so I'kin go." Leroy announced as he slapped the level top of the brick.

A lopsided grin appeared on the man's face. So transfixed on the copious amount of cocaine that would soon be in his possession, he failed to notice that the brick still remained in the mote of cheap fabric created by the scrunched bag—and that Leroy never took his hand off the top of it. Leroy remained silent as Dae Dae continued to leer at his dust.

Moving even slower than Leroy had, Dae Dae reached into his pocket and pulled from it a rubber-banded wad of hundreds. Watching as Dae Dae began to move the bills in his direction, Leroy confirmed, quite consciously, with a question that seemed to catch his customer off guard.

"Fifteen?"

The spell on Dae Dae broken, he cast his eyes up to Leroy.

"Yeeh, you see me handin' it to you don'tcha?" Dae Dae sneered with an undertone of aggravation.

"Its all good man, its jus dat from here it seem like yo' roll lookin' ah lil' thin…dem all hundreds?"

"Nigga you don't believe me? Fuckin' look! I'll fuckin' count all deez damn shits out so you'kin fuckin' see." Dae Dae retorted. Then, as if he was some little kid in a dare, undid the band around the hundreds and began to count them out loud.

Leroy let his eyes count with the unfurling hundreds, curious as to where this course of action would take. While he counted, Leroy, moving only his eyes, took better inventory of his surroundings. The couch he stood next to was not fully against the wall and that there was a nightstand at the other end of it away from where he stood. Behind Dae Dae was a large plush chair. Off to the left was the hallway leading to other rooms in the house. The place itself was not very large, but only seemed that way due to the underutilization of floor space. Taking a few extra seconds to examine the other men, Leroy noted that none of them appeared to be older than twenty…and wet behind the ears to boot.

Dae Dae went on for about a minute as all the bills began to lay flat in his palm. In the last count, Dae Dae's words staggered with something like disbelief as his number stopped several thousand short of the asking price. Now this was awkward.

Leroy would feel the tension in the air move to strangle; that mysterious quiet before disaster stuck settled over the room like an exploded bag white flour. Leroy and Dae Dae's eyes met like predator and formidable prey, both of them knowing what came next. The time for thought was over.

Leroy snatched up on the drawstrings of the bag with his right hand, re-sheathing the coke and securing it firmly in the same motion. As his fist continued upward, he swung out counterclockwise, welding the coke brick like an Olympic hammer, striking the man that stood behind him to the left. The brick continued its desperate course towards Needles. The slender-built man bowed backward like a boxer to avoid the blow. Instinct flashed in his black and dead eyes and quickly snatched from nowhere a switchblade to counter the deviant actions Leroy was taking—this nigga thought he was going to get away…

In the space between Needles righting himself and Leroy finishing his swing, Leroy doubled back and grabbed by the shirtfront the still stupefied lackey he had pummeled with the cocaine and jerked the man between him and the switchblade that was hurdling toward his liver.

There was a gasp and a howl that signified that Leroy's human shield had taken the blow. With his fist still wrapped up in the man's shirt, Leroy pushed back on him, effectively keeping Needles off balance. With the victim stumbling back on Needles as well, it made it difficult for Needles to quickly collect his blade lodged in the man's back. In the midst of this, Leroy sidestepped with his shield in such a way that he and Needles were never face to face in addition to keeping the injured man between him and others.

Slow to the draw, and thoroughly blindsided by the unexpected skirmish, Dae Dae's other six thugs pulled their guns sloppily and aimed—holding their fire only because two of their men were in direct line of it. Taking advantage of this hesitation, Leroy forced back with all his might on his shield, sending the man and Needles with him stumbling over the coffee table. Before they landed though, Leroy had already lunged over the couch, hitting the back of it and causing it to fall backwards. Immediately rounds started firing, however no holes exploded through the cushions. Much to his blind luck, the couch had a hideaway-bed component and all the wood, metal and mattress stuffing from it worked to insulate him from the weapon fire.

Not waiting for one of them to get smart and come around the couch, Leroy tempted fate by lunging from his deteriorating cover across open floor to the area behind the oversized chair. In that split second of vulnerability, a bullet managed to graze his far right shoulder. The wound burned like fire, but the pain was not enough to punch through his adrenaline. Even more exposed in this inadequate position, Leroy's eyes locked on a closed door directly ahead of him. For a brief second, the firing ceased—their magazines were empty.

"Hurry up an' fuckin' reload!!" An unfamiliar voice rang out.

Never having a clearer opportunity, Leroy dove for the door that somehow seemed farther away just a second ago. He crashed through it and sprang to his feet, whipping the bag onto his back as he did. By now the blood from his wound had soaked well through his shirt and gave the appearance of more damage than was actually there. It still hurt, but now wasn't a time to dwell on such trifles. He was in a bedroom now, and in front of him stood a very pregnant and wide-eyed woman. She was young enough, maybe eighteen. She wore a pink tanktop that barely covered her swollen form and a pair of pink, green and yellow pastel plaid peddle-pushers that also failed to accommodate her enlarged belly. Her short, broken out and chemically damaged hair was pulled back into a nub of a ponytail and slicked back with brown gel. Somebody's baby mama. Maybe it was Dae Dae's? Not that it mattered. If Dae Dae was stupid enough to keep a pregnant woman in the house with all the dirty shit that went on in it, he should be prepared to pay for such a laps in judgement.

Regardless, Leroy was unprepared for this turn, and found himself equally unprepared for when she moved for a Glock on the dresser next to her. Before she was able to collect and aim the gun, however, Leroy had already negotiated the distance between them and the pregnant girl soon found herself in a firm headlock. With the Glock in his possession, he wasted no time pressing it's barrel into the side of the woman's pregnant belly; if he was going to have leverage, damnit he'd have some fucking leverage. She gave a small terrified squeal as Dae Dae and another filled the doorway.

"Qwanisha!" Dae Dae blurted, genuine worry in his face. Maybe it was his after all.

A second passed and Leroy had managed to square most of himself behind the slight frame of the woman, making himself less of a target. He spoke dangerously as his one visible eye hovered over his hostage's shoulder.

"This bitch'll git uh bullet-made abortion if yall niggas don't get duh fuck up out muh way." He took a few steps forward, pushing the girl along, her breath hitching loudly in undisguised terror. Dae Dae and the other man beside him backed up quickly as Leroy cleared the doorway. In the hallway, all the men, except the one who'd been knifed by Needles' switchblade, stared at Leroy with a mix of discomfort and anger. Leroy disregarded their burning glares and he moved towards the front door, the woman his shield all the time.

With his back to the wall beside the doorframe, he spoke lowly in the woman's ear instructing her open the door with her left hand. Once he saw from his peripheral the door swing open, he backed out. As he moved across the threshold, the group inched toward him. Leroy stopped immediately and tightened his already fierce grip on the girl till she mewled in pain.

"Yall niggas think I'm playin…" he said as he pressed the gun farther into the side of her hardened stomach. The men jerked to a halt at the visible threat. Satisfied, Leroy slowly moved down the stairs until he was on the dusty ground below.

"Don't follow or da' hoe gets it." He called into the open door. Backing away into the relative darkness of the poorly lit street, he allowed the gun to migrate from the girl's belly to her neck.

"You make a fuss an' I'll still bus'a cap in yo ass." She nodded her head quickly and Leroy began walking backwards swiftly, all but dragging her along. Once he had rounded the corner of a building out of sight of the house he had just fled, he whirled her about and threw her roughly to the ground. She had served her purpose and was no longer needed. Not taking another moment, he broke out into a full on run through the darkness back to his headquarters, knowing that he would loose them successfully if they attempted to pursue.

Needless to say, there was gunna be hell to pay for this one. If there was ever a time to try and vacate terrible Terra-Belle, it was now. Too much shit was on the horizon and the fault seemed to lay with Dae Dae--damn that ignorant fucker.

* * *

A/N: I hope this chapter didn't go too oddly for you. It'll make more sense after while. Thanks for reading. Till next update!


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: K, I worked for a while on this one, so I hope it came out well. Just to give yall some prospective while you're reading, this is one of those 'driver' chapters. Its not that the chap is latent with action, but rather it's a slightly a deeper look into some of the characters. I have decided to try to keep the word count over five thousand from now on, I think every one can get more out of the updates that way. Lastly the Boondock's are not mine. There is swearing and a minor consuming alcohol. Enjoy.

* * *

The day had passed away without activity but not without notice. Huey still stayed close to his bed, leaving only for the bathroom and occasionally to his computer when the confines of his bed made him restless. Granddad did what he normally did on quiet days, devote copious amounts of his time to his MySpace 'cutie pies', although he did well to keep up on his older grandson. Few words had been exchanged between the members of the Freeman household, it was just one of those days where talking didn't seem to make much difference either way.

Now, while it wasn't necessarily any of Riley's business, it was to his knowledge that Huey would very soon have to be weaned away from the pain-killers that were keeping most of his irritability at bay. While Riley did not chance across this news in so many words, he was able to deduce that much in overhearing a brief exchange between his grandfather and Huey while on his way to the washroom. Huey had sounded irritated when Granddad started stating the obvious.

"I _know_ Granddad. You don't have to keep telling me that my prescription's up; if it's okay, I'd prefer not to be reminded of the suspension of reprieve for my discomfort."

"Boy you betta keep them five dolla words to yo'self."

Granddad was only concerned, and why shouldn't he be? He had heard the horror stories of people who became addicted to their prescriptions, and he just didn't want Huey to be one of them. Then of course there was him, the troublemaker. Riley still couldn't put off the twinges of guilt that would creep into his belly every time the pandemonium he helped to instigate chewed at his mind. It seemed more and more to him that the people he cared about paid for his recklessness. He knew that his grandfather had better things he could be spending his energy on then attending a hearing that involved him. Speaking of which, wasn't that supposed to take place that coming Monday?

But more than all of that at the moment, Thugnificent.

Riley couldn't suppress the chill that ran up his spine as the name spilled into his mind like wasted water. Coming to think of it, his sleep the night before had been rather restless. When he had retired, he tossed and turned for nearly two hours trying to force the foreboding images of the gangsta rapper from his mind. That morning when he awoke, he found himself no more rested than when he fought himself asleep. Riley though, despite his exhaustion, could not claim anymore rest and simply lay in his bed for most of the late a.m. hours. He only knew he could laze like that because their grandfather did not wish to disturb Huey with his screeching protests. When Riley finally emerged from his bed well after eleven, he resigned himself to the couch to pass the hours away with the various video games at his disposal. More than once did Granddad pause to ask him if he deserved to be playing video games in light of his actions at school.

"Well, its better than disturbin' Huey." Riley had responded after pausing his game. Robert only looked at his grandson through slightly smudged glasses before warning him to keep letting his brother be—as if he didn't already know to do that. Of course he wanted to let his brother be…he wanted very much to take back all the damage that had been unfairly dealt to him. That was his and Butch's fight, no one else should have been involved.

But that was all water under the bridge now. In a few more hours, after the Freeman house fell silent with slumber, Riley would cross Timid Deer Lane to Thugnificent's estate and become privy to whatever scheme the man had in store. It was not something he was looking forward to.

..oo..

It was a quarter till one when Riley put off the covers that loosely clung to his slender form. Glancing over at his sleeping brother, Riley climbed out of his bed and knelt down to collect the clothes he had previously laid there. Creeping to the door, he was through it and down the stairs within seconds. Riley didn't worry if he'd be alone at this hour, he could hear his grandfather's snores loudly through the hall. In the front door's breezeway, Riley hastily dressed—he didn't want to risk rousing Huey with the surprisingly loud rustle of fabric.

Placing a ball cap on his head, Riley was out of the house and low on the stoop. Yes the cap was a seemingly useless accessory in the dead of night, obscuring only his cornrows. If anyone was to spot him, he would immediately become suspect, seeing as that a child his age should be at home—especially in Woodcrest. Taking care to check his surroundings, Riley quickly made steps to Thugnificent's front door.

On the stoop, Riley looked around once more to make sure there was no one around. Satisfied that he was indeed alone, he gave two swift knocks on the large wooden door—he knew just how obnoxiously loud Thugnificent's doorbell could be and was sure that nether he or Thugnificent would want it sounding through the house and echoing out into the quiet streets. At the same time though, how could Thugnificent have possibly heard his knocks? Riley's small fist was powerful, but he knew it couldn't be heard in every part the house. Then again, if Nificent was expecting him—and he knew he was—it shouldn't matter.

Regardless, several minutes had passed with Riley standing in the still night air on Thugnificent's doorstep; the boy began to wonder. 'I know he ain't sleep.' Riley thought to himself. He tried the door, and to his surprise found it unlock. An anxious feeling came over him as he slipped into the main foyer's interior. It was mostly unlit, save for the outside lamplight that filtered through the windows, the many busts of Thugnificent catching its light. The door closed behind Riley with a soft click as he took a few tentative steps across the marble floor. He was unsure if he should call out. Maybe Thugnificent really was asleep. But again no, not when he was expecting him. It briefly crossed his mind to go downstairs to the range, but then thought better of it. True he had spent a lot of time there in the passed months, but it was not his house, and thus it would have been quite disrespectful to just let himself anywhere.

After another minute or so, Riley glanced down to the cheap plastic digital watch that was buckled round his thin wrist. He couldn't read the watch face without straining, but after a moment could make out that it was about eight passed the hour. Where the hell was he?

"I'm glad ta see you take punctuality seriously."

Riley could feel his sinuses prickle clear as the deep voice floated to him through the air. He looked over his shoulder to find Thugnificent silhouetted against the marble of the columns of his foyer, strong arms folded. It was dark, needless to say, but Riley could make out the long tee and pajama bottoms that the rapper wore, which flowed down his large frame modestly.

"Hava seat." He said, motioning to the large living room. A few seconds later, Riley found himself sitting uncomfortably on one of the overstuffed loveseats, despite the velvety feel of the upholstery.

Though Thugnificent couldn't tell in the low light, Riley watched him with uneasy eyes as he moved to an abbreviated mini-bar, collecting a bottle and two drinking glasses. Riley continued to watch him as the man walked to the large and ornate glass table that he sat in front of. Thugnificent didn't look at the boy as he set on the table with a soft clink one of the two glasses he held. Riley continued to eye him wearily as Thugnificent lowered the bottle, which Riley found to be glass as well, to the glass that was already on the table. An amber colored liquid flowed smoothly from mouth to rim with a moist babble until the glass on the table was about four ounces full of the potent liquor that Riley could smell from where he was. Thugnificent moved to the other side of the table and placed his own glass down, pouring a bit for himself. When the man was done, he set the squat bottle down away from him and looked across to Riley, picking up the drinking glass as he did.

"Drink up lil' nigga. Dat shit is guaranteed ta put some hair on dat bird chest 'ah yours."

Riley regarded the honey-colored liquid settling in the glass before him, suddenly scared to death.

"Uh, I don't think I should drink that…"

"Boy, shut da fuck up an' drink dat shit." Riley couldn't tell if it was a command or not. There was so much of it, and he didn't even know what it was. Gingerly he reached out and took the glass into his right hand, bringing it up to his nose.

Jesus, it smelled like pure gasoline, the scent of it wafting in his nostrils, making his eyes water.

"W-wut is it?"

"Crown Royal."

Crown Royal, eh? Riley had heard of this before, seen ads for it on T. V. and in magazines. Hell, he'd seen it plenty of times on the numerous mini-bars that were scattered through Thugnificent's excessively large house, but he had never once been offered it, let alone expected to drink it.

"You gunna tell me that I poured that for nuthin?" He had asked after Riley took too long. The question itself wasn't angry—but rather, full of cruel expectation…like an abusive parent. Riley could feel the man's eyes heavy on him, waiting. And how could he not obey? This was Thugnificent's house, and Riley had come at his command like a good little dog—a well-trained pup. And now again was the next command, to drink. Now it wasn't like Riley never tasted the awful and hot stinging bite of alcohol--out of curiosity once not too long ago, mostly of ignorance. He had sunk a bit of Granddad's brandy while he was busy entertaining one of his many internet met travesties. This was different however, this was put upon him.

And he took it into his mouth, like a poison. Hell it was just a drink, but there was a great deal more to it then just that. He was giving something up just then…he didn't know what yet—something important to be sure—and he could feel that it was gone. Forcing down the liquid fire, Riley nearly gagged and tried not to sputter as the liquor seared his insides. Somewhere in his reeling, he heard Thugnificent's laughter, mocking.

"Wuzuh'madda Riz? Cain't handle it?"

"Man, dis shit nasty!" Riley blanched, brows still knotted together.

"Well, sounds like a personal problem ta me. Finish it."

Riley grimaced. All of it? He'd parish from the taste alone, and here he was having to take it straight, and at room temperature no less. Nothing to break it up—no ice, no chaser, not even a cracker to soak some of it up. Just pure Canadian whisky.

Glass still in hand, Riley returned it to his mouth for another go. When his lip met the rim, he could feel his esophagus twitch in apprehension. How could adults _pay_ to drink this stuff? Pushing the thought away, he tipped his head back more earnestly. It was when the strong and desperately bitter liquor branded his tongue for the second time did he realize his error. He was allowing the whiskey to remain in his mouth. If he had simply tossed it back, then his poor, ravaged taste buds might have missed most of the brunt of that savage assault on his senses. Then again, how the hell would he have known that? He was eight for Christ's sake!

Once the glass was drained, he let his top lip curl tightly over the surface of his baby teeth as the heat of the whisky rushed to force his young body into possesses reserved for crowds more his senior. He felt flush for a moment as he returned the glass to the table. The taste in Riley mouth nearly escaped description; it was like he had gargled an astringent. In those few seconds, he made it up in his mind to never drink for pleasure, it was too terrible.

"See, it wun't so bad, now was it?"

Riley wanted to tell the man across the table what he could shove and how many ways he could shove it—but instead replied simply, "it ain't fa'me I don't think, but its a'ight." A lie of course, but it would do.

"Now, I'm sure you're wonderin' why I asked you ta come here. I want to talk to you for awhile without interruption."

Riley could feel the unease tighten in his chest, though it must not have been apparent yet because the rapper kept going.

"You've always lived in Illinois, right?"

"Yeah."

"Have you always lived in Woodcrest?"

Riley's answer was slow and cautious, despite the heat that was spreading through his abdomen. There were times when Riley felt like he could trust Thugnificent, and other times he couldn't…now was one of those latter times. "Naw, I was livin' in Chicago when me an' my brother was littler. We moved out here wit Granddad a while back."

"Wut was it like, livin' in da Chi?"

Riley's voice became lower, his already waning confidence now tissue thin. "We got along."

"You got along," the man echoed. "Really?"

Riley couldn't stand it—what the hell was he getting at? He wanted to tell him just to spit it the fuck out, but Riley certainly knew better than _that_.

Thugnificent readjusted himself in his chair. "Have you seen dat T.V. special a'mine, Rags ta Bitches?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure den you saw just wut kinda shit I was comin' up wit. Was livin' where you was livin' anything like dat?"

What was this, some kind of pissing contest? "No, well, I mean dat it wun't all duh way like dat. Yeeh there was drugs an' all, an' shootin' too. Das partaduh reason we came out here. Our family thought it wun't good back where we was."

"And you should be grateful for that." Thugnificent said clearly. "Yuh see Riley, ain't nobody jus come up ta me when I was your age an' say 'hey, Terra-Belle ain't da bes' place for ah lil' man—les move you out ta Crackerville wit a nice big house an' a good school ta go to'. Naw dat shit ain't happen fuh me at all. I had ta grind anythang an' errathang ta get here on da same street dat has been so graciously handed tuh you on uh silver fuckin' platter."

If Riley didn't know any better he'd say Thugnificent was bitter, although the tone in his voice didn't hint at this. Thugnificent leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table, threading his fingers together as he did.

"What I'm gettin' at here Riley is dat you are in debt ta me. I don't know if you've forgotten this lil' incidental or not, but it is da chief reason why you are in my house at half passed one in da mornin' drinkin my whisky."

Riley felt his mouth drop open a bit as the words fell on him. Debt what debt?

"Judgin' by the slack in yo jaw, clearly you need ta be reminded. Allow me ta jog yo memory. Some months back, you informed me that you'd be corrallin' ah number ah hoes for my most recent T.V. spot. If you recall, I had ta come outta my pocket for pimped hoes after you told me the night before filmin' that errathang was 'all good'. You think I forgot about that shit Riley Freeman?" Thugnificent's last words came crisp and enunciated—making it sound all the more threatening.

Riley felt his blood freeze in his veins. Was _that_ it? A matter of five grand? The man was a fuckin millionaire and he was milling over a few thousand dollars?

"Well damn Nificent! I'm just a kid! Wuddaya want me ta do? I cain't get dat money back, I'm sorry!"

Thugnificent's face remained placid in spite of the whine that came from the child across from him. "I never said that you'd come up wit da cheese, I know better than ta expect dat from you. But I do remember me saying somethin' about me takin' it outta yo ass."

Riley's mind quickly flashed back to the night the T.V. spot was filmed, and how big Thugnificent's hand had seemed when it was balled up in his shirt.

"Wuddaya mean? Wutchu want me ta do?"

"I'm glad you asked." The man said as he got up from his seat, holding his wrists behind his back and walking. "Lil' nigga, there are things dat go on in da undacurrents dat people don't know about. Da shit's always been there, like in Woodcrest for example. There ain't no way in hell dat this lilywhite breadbox gets along so nicely witout somethin' flowin' beneath it--things dat kind-minded people don't like ta think go on in their perfect lil town."

Riley felt hot, small and displaced. He could feel his gangly limbs grow odd and his fingers become strange. "Wutchu talkin' bout Nificent?"

"Oh, I think your brother might undastand. He seem like uh deep lil nigga." The comment was accompanied by a nonchalant glance in Riley's direction.

"Hol' up, why would Huey know anything? Why he gotta come up?" Riley questioned, suddenly alarmed at the mention of his brother.

Thugnificent chuckled a bit. "My bad Riz—didn't mean ta get abstract on ya." The rapper said, dismissing the ruffled feathers of the child. "But like I was saying, shit is always movin' jus below da surface of things we know. Its also part of da reason you're here. You my lil nig, are goin' ta sink below dat surface for ah lil while an' ride dat undacurrent. I've got uh mission fuh you."

By now the heat in Riley's abdomen had spread completely through him as the alcohol in his blood rivered through his slight frame with every successive heartbeat. He blinked tight his eyes as he solicited the rapper. "A mission? Like wut?"

"Don't worry bout it. You ain't quite all da way ready for it. Get ready ta train lil nigga, you've been gettin' outta practice."

Train? No, not now…everything seemed fuzzy to him, too clouded for that. Damn, was this what it was like to get toasted? No, maybe not toasted, buzzed. That was the word for it. Hell, Riley might have thought that the feeling was kind of neat it weren't be overshadowed by such unpleasant things.

"Getcho ass downstairs, we got alotta work ta do." He heard Thugnificent say. Fine. If this was the only way he could be rid of the 'debt' Thugnifcent put over his head and get back to a more normal pre-adolescent life, then so be it.

..oo..

It was about half passed four when Riley crept back into the house, taking care to be as quiet as possible. When he made his way to the bathroom, he closed the door and slid down its wooden frame to the floor. Ahh, he could feel the coolness of the tile seep through to the seat of his pants—it was most forgiving, unlike the unrelenting bite of Thugnificent's concrete basement. Maybe it was the ambiance of the bathroom, with its polished oak finishes, decorative paintings, ivory porcelains and rounded edges. It was a man's bathroom—masculine yet respectfully refined, like an old scholar's study. Sure his grandfather's choice of underwear might have suggested otherwise, but it was clear that when the bathroom was decorated, Granddad's taste in male elegance laid quietly in every corner of the space.

Riley let his rest on the door at his back as his mind continued to swim with the night's occurrences. His body was tired, heavy and hurting from the punishment he had taken from the training. Punch after punch. Block after kick after dodge after block. The buzz he had earlier had bled away through the adrenaline that had rushed to replace it. Thugnificent had been fierce but cold. There was something in his eyes the entire time that Riley could never place, couldn't tell if it was angry, vengeful or something else entirely. He looked down at his shirt, observing the blood that spackled it. How did that get there again? Oh yeah, his head. Somehow he found the strength to raise bruised fingertips to somewhere passed his hairline. He could feel the dried blood coating some of the wayward strands of hair that dodged the confines of his cornrows. Riley couldn't exactly recall what caused the injury, but he did vaguely remember it throbbing more than outright hurting. He also recalled being quite surprised to find he hadn't noticed as the blood flowed down the side of his face—he had thought he was merely sweating. Riley had wiped the side of his temple with the back of his hand in a flash to quickly return it for a block. In a blur of punches, he had finally taken notice of the large stroke of drying blood that painted his arm. He remembered pausing to wonder where it had come from. This however had been a mistake because Thugnificent had taken advantage of the unguarded moment to knock the lithe but incredibly slender boy down to the hard concrete.

"I'll trust you know not ta do dat silly shit again." Was all the man said while Riley picked himself up, the boy noting the meager splatter of his blood on the floor.

Riley wanted to stand up from his grandfather's bathroom floor, but his body, though somewhat able, simply did not want to. Riley supposed it would be alright to stay there for a few moments longer, just so he could collect some strength.

..oo..

His eyes flew open with a snap as the halfhearted beep of his piss-poor digital watch. Fuck, it was six o'clock! He _knew_ he should have gotten up off the damn floor! Now he was pressed seeing as that Granddad always awoke around this time and b-lined it for the bathroom. It was anyone's guess why the man didn't just use the master bath that was inside his own bedroom; Riley knew that he certainly would've. But whatever. He didn't have time to ponder such largely irrelevant things, he still had to shower, slip his bloodied shirt in the laundry and assess just how damaged he appeared. Riley figured he have a helluva time trying to explain away the wound in his hairline and his purple fingertips acquired between going to bed and waking up a few hours later.

Struggling to his feet, which took some calculated effort from being asleep on the bathroom floor, made it a point to lock the door. Quickly pulling off his soiled shirt, he took care to roll it in the bath towel that he'd be using to dry himself. It was unlikely that his brother or grandfather would force their way into the bathroom just to look at his clothes, but Riley didn't care—Thugnificent's training was beginning to fashion him into a person not willing to leave things to chance.

No sooner had Riley shut off the water did there come an agitated bang on the bathroom door.

"Boy, what the hell are you doing in there?! I've been waitin' for a whole damn hour! There prolly ain't ah'dropuh hot water left! Damnit Riley hurry the hell _up_! It ain't right ta keep an' ol man waitin' round like this!"

"I'm sorry Granddad, I'm almost done, jus' give me a few more minutes." Riley replied through the door wearily. Had he been in the shower that long? Just then, the little faint beep from his watch he had left on his pants sounded. Well, he guessed so. Somehow though, all the time spent in it did very little to revitalize him. Continuing to pat himself dry, Riley walked over to the sink and the mirror mounted above it. He hadn't bothered to look at himself since he returned home; his tired body and mind never attempted to make a pass at the thought. Scrutinizing his reflection, he leaned over the sink to observe the cut in his head. In the shower, he had made a point to not disturb the scab working to form over it—how strange it would have been to explain why his head was bleeding so freshly if he passed his grandfather in the hall.

Confident that he could survive a once over if it were given, he pulled open the medicine cabinet and collected the sports tape there and proceeded to wrap his purple and still swollen fingers; the less obvious the injuries, the better. After taking a few extra moments to brush his teeth, Riley quickly gathered the rest of his clothes, making sure his bloodstained shirt was thoroughly obscured. Not finding his grandfather in the hall, a pleasing discovery, Riley made his way, wrapped in the bath towel to the bedroom. Inside he found that Huey hadn't woken yet. Utilizing the assumed privacy, Riley allowed the bath towel to drop gracelessly around his feet, followed by his clothes which he promptly kicked under his bed. Moving to his set of drawers, he pulled a standard set of his bed clothes, a pair of boxers and a wifebeater, and put them on.

With a sigh more audible then he meant to make it, he returned to the lonely folds of his bed, feeling more tired somehow then when he was in the bathroom. God, his pillow was soft.

..oo..

Huey's eyes were slow to drag open upon hearing the soft snore of his younger brother. The fact that he woke up to it irritated him a bit, but then the feeling quickly went away. He looked across to his computer desk and the digital clock that was on it: 9:30. Sighing through his nose, he glanced up at the vinyl blinds that covered their windows. It was overcast it seemed; how ready Mother Nature was to match his mood. Sitting up, Huey tried to overlook the deep bruising that thrummed at his insides. He was really beginning to miss the merciful white pills that helped to numb the pain that stayed in his back and head.

It was Saturday, and it sucked. Huey couldn't remember the last time he felt so goddamn bored. He hadn't even been awake more than an few minutes and he was already incredibly irritable. The lack of activity that his injuries forced him into was nearly maddening. Huey looked back over to his slumbering brother and for a moment envied him. Not because he wasn't restricted by a disagreeable body, but because he was so easily entertained. Anybody who knew Huey Freeman knew that many of the normal pastimes of children his age did nothing to hold his attention. For that he had his books and his dreams of a neo-socialistic future built by his own hands—but after most of his survivable waking hours dedicated to his radical idealism, even _he_ had to take a break from it.

Huey allowed himself to lie back on his pillow. Bone contusions, he had found, took months to heal. Moreover, they tended to be more painful then actual bone fractures. He had been told that he'd have to limit his movement as much as possible until the healing possess was complete—an idea that he wasn't very fond of.

Then there was Riley. Something had been up with his little brother for a while now and he _still_ couldn't put his finger on it. Of course it was obvious that Riley was in mischief when he had been entangled in that fight on the science wing of the elementary school, but it had gone beyond that. Considerably, if Huey's intuition was correct, which it usually was. Still, it was unfair of him to accuse Riley so readily of wrong doing. He was a handful no doubt, and stirring up trouble was not uncommon for him. Huey supposed that his little brother, despite how different they were, was more like him than he was willing to admit. That being said, it would not be unrealistic if Riley really was hiding something. While Huey was not so wildly sage at the ripe old age of ten, he was much more skilled in controlling his emotions than his younger sibling. Now that he thought of it, he never had a reason to hide any of his agendas, mostly because people just considered Huey to have an imagination too politically vivid for his own good.

He and his brother were different yet.

He saw the tape on his brother's fingers. Some new fad he was sure Riley had fallen prey to…he was so damn malleable, and it worried Huey to no end how impressionable he found his brother to be. _He_ had never been so easily influenced by everything media and all things mainstream had to offer. Huey supposed then that he was just a bit old school, like his grandfather, but with a contemporary and very pro-black twist.

Thugnificent.

The name forced a deep crease into Huey's young brow. At first he just figured the gangsta rapper to be nothing more than a loud, obnoxious, over-the-top flash-in-the-pan that most of the rappers nowadays amounted to be. It didn't help that Riley practically worshipped the man and spent most of his free time with him and his little band. Picking up all sorts horrible habits no doubt…damn he sounded old.

Huey only regretted that he couldn't intervene more. It was important for Riley to make his own mistakes, but at the same time, he had a responsibility to protect his brother from gross harm.

Then there was the fight—again with the fight! Huey just couldn't seem to clear his head. Hell, he wasn't even worried about what happened to him, or dare he say even Jazmine; no part of it could be undone. His chief concern was for Riley and for him to not be expelled from the school. It would be no big deal if Huey was cast out of the school system, he could pick up what he needed on his own—but Riley…Was it even fair for him to give so little credit to his brother? Sure he was a hellion in his own right but…

Huey hoped the hearing would go well in their favor. School was a welcome distraction for the both of them, no matter how they felt about it.

Climbing out of the bed, Huey shuffled around his brother's sleeping form on his way to the door. An endearing sigh fluttered in his throat as he paused to regard Riley. With some pained effort, he raised a tired hand to let it rest on Riley's exposed shoulder. He was so deep asleep the touch did not register, and he remained still. Blinking in his own weary way, Huey withdrew his hand and continued to the door. He loved his brother dearly and he'd be damned if he didn't tell him that more. There was a disconnection it seemed, between the two of them. Huey was never the type to be sentimental, and neither was Riley, but they were going to have to better than this. While he never thought about it before, he knew he didn't want them to be the kind of brothers who had grown so far apart that there was no feeling left between them. He'd be a good brother to Riley, even if it _killed him_.

"Don't worry Riley, I'll look after you. I promise." Were Huey's soft words to the sleeping child, then he was gone.

* * *

A/N: Alright! Hope you liked it! Review me; PLEASE tell me what you think on this one. It was an important chapter and I hope it came across a bit stronger than the others. Thanks again for everyone who is following this. It's my most dedicated fic and I take pleasure in writing it. Till next update!


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